My job? Fighting to the death. What's yours?

On the top you'll see a picture of a bunch of tourists (THERE ARE SO MANY OF US) in front of Constantine's arch. Constantine was the Emperor who legalized Christianity in the 4th century. On the right, you'll see the Colosseum, where, pre legalization, the Christians were fed to lions. After the great fire in AD 64, Nero expanded the area (adding a nice statue of himself, of course), and in 80 AD, Titus (famous for his sacking of Jerusalem) celebrated the completion of the top floor by killing 9,000 animals (and Gabriella said 3,000 people as well) to the delight of the crowds in some inaugural games. I know it's a different mind set, but I can't imagine crowding in through the gates (labeled with Roman numerals so you could find your seat) to see a bunch of people being forced to murder each other, or to be eaten by animals, or to see animals getting killed.

You had to climb this killer set of super steep death-stairs to get to the top, from where I took the picture on the bottom, which, LOOKS LIKE A VAGINA! WOOT! This area was originally underneath a wooden floor which was covered in sand (arena being the Latin word for sand). These corridors or rooms would've held the gladiators or animals waiting to compete. They've found no evidence of latrines in the Colosseum (they think they were outside of it somewhere) but that's okay, because if I were a Gladiator, I just would've peed my skirt in fear. I would've been the saddest Gladiator ever, not brave, like the Gladiators of today.

When in Rome...Spout Stupid Cliches About Rome!

Lizzie and I have been keeping track of the cliches. Thus far we have heard

All Roads Lead to Rome

When In Rome...

Rome Wasn't Built in a Day

We will add to this as we go along, should any others be introduced...

(These are some temple ruins outside the Colosseum...looking good, Venus!)

Because you Vatican can can!

Went to the Vatican this morning! Above is a cupola designed by Michelangelo, an also a marble crocodile, because it is awesome. We met with a new guide Gabriella, who was a super adorable lady of a certain age who told us excellent jokes, my favorite being:

Q. How does the Pope fly to his summer residence?

A. In a holy-copter.

Mua ha ha! Excellent.

We got to the Vactican around 8:20, and took a tour of the museum which has a huge collection of marble statues and tapestries. Rome, as we all know, was a very stabby place, and there is a super creepy series of tapestries showing Herod killing the boy babies back in the day. Fun! Past there some of us took a bathroom break (or, as Gabriella would say, the Holy Pee) and the rest of us filed in for an early look at the Sistene chapel. One is not allowed to take photos in the Chapel, which is gorgeous, obviously, but people are dumb, and do it anyway, so I counted the number of times the guards had to yell "NO PHOTOS" in a 25 minute span, and it topped 29 by the time I left. When they weren't yelling NO PHOTOS, they were yelling "SSSSSSHHHH," which, ironically, was louder than the talking. After the Sistene Chapel, we went to St. Peter's Basilica (Gabriella: "Where is Saint Peter? You are standing on him! Ha ha!") and saw the Pieta, which is a gorgeous sculpture of Mary holding Jesus's body post crucifixion, by Michelangelo, of course. It's such a beautiful piece, but because of the crowds I couldn't get a decent picture. Here, check it out!

The Basilica is massive, and has tons of gorgeous art, and (guess who was raised in a Protestant religion?) all I could imagine was Jesus coming down to visit and being like "dude, seriously?" Jesus, being perfect and all, probably would've been more eloquent, but as Lizzie and I discussed, though we can totally understand the desire to praise your God with ostentatious buildings, Jesus was a humble guy, an probably would've been squicked out by the excess (and have given it all to the poor). Anyway, you all know how I like to write songs, so I sang this one to Lizzie the whole time we were walking around, which I'm sure she enjoyed: "Jesus Jesus, Jesus Jesus! Jesus Jesus, Jesus Jesus! Jesus!" It's pretty catchy, and I'll be sure to make a recording for you all when I get back.

Okay, time for a pause. Our hotel room is really pretty, but it smells like sewer gas. I was typing this entry and I was like "Damn it smells like shit again" and I thought I'd let you know. Our bathroom, for all its sewer gas smell, has a bidet. FANCY.

After the Basilica, we had lunch, and then headed out to the Colosseum. Rarr!

Rome If You Want to...

Sooo...tired...

Hello friends! It's been one heckuva long day. We flew out of Boston at 10:55 pm, and our hosts on Air France were clearly into torture via sleep deprivation, because they kept waking us up every 15 minutes:

*poke* Please put down your window shade
*poke* Did you put down your window shade?
*poke* Do you want this creepy plastic cup full of airplane risotto?
*poke* Please put up your window shade
*poke* Do you want this blueberry muffin? It has exactly one blueberry in it, etc.

This torture by sleep deprivation was paired with an even more insidious torture, so horrifying it grieves me to share it with you, but it's a burden Lizzie and I just cannot bear alone. Those of you who are squeamish may wish to look away. While our eyeballs, dry from dehydration, were forced to remain open by the aforementioned prodding, the Air France flight crew cruelly put on the worst possible movie, a movie so terrible it has been added to the Geneva Convention as an inhumane treatment of prisoners of war, that movie being "Never Say Never," starring Justin Bieber.

What the fuck? Who thought that would be the best movie to show on a crowded airplane which had very few tweens on it? Had I the strength, I would've thrown myself out a window, but I was too tired to crack the glass. The plane itself was a double decker, a la the plane in "Snakes on a Plane," which is clearly a far superior movie to "Never Say Never." Yes, middle class Canadian boy, your life has surely been plauged with challenges. You're so brave. Ugh.

We got to Paris around 11:30am (5:30am Boston time) and ran through Charles De Gaulle Airport, making it to our gate for our 2:05pm flight to Rome. We finally landed here about 5:10pm (in a hay field, oddly) and sat in traffic, finally making it to our hotel by 6:10. There we met Gary, our tour guide, who hails from Providence. He told us that we'd have to get back down for dinner by 6:30 (my kingdom for a shower) and then handed us our key. Turns out they gave us the wrong room number, and we tried to break into someone else's room. When the occupant opened, we awkwardly had to explain that we had to kill her because we'd been programmed by Justin Bieber to do so. That being settled, Lizzie went back downstairs, got our real room number, and we quickly changed and ran downstairs to meet our group.

We've made friends already with a family from Providence (WTF Rhode Island?) and a lady who's on her own from Mississippi. We were talking to our Mississippi friend about our rush to get here, and this other crabby woman was like "OH YOU WERE THE ONES WHO WERE LATE? GLAD I STOOD MY GROUND." Foolishly, we thought that meant she had insisted that our tour group remain until we had landed and joined them before taking off for dinner, but she went on to say that she had bullied Gary into promising to leave by 6:30 whether Lizzie and I had made it in or not. Consider yourself our Italy trip Nemesis, Evil!Anne. Before we made it to the restaurnt, we saw the Spainsh Square and the Spanish Steps. At the restaurant we ate a huge meal of food, me having a pile of meat wrapped in more meat, with bread and pasta to boot. The best part about our table was that we were with two teenagers who couldn't drink, so I had to have their share of wine. Lizzie was difficult, and wanted VEGETABLES, and was led away by this delightful octogenrian to the veggie buffet, which I thought was Italian slang for "I'm going to murder you." Luckily she came through the eperience unharmed, and avec vegetables. Tomorrow is the Vatican, et al. I will try to be more coherent then. Buona Serra!

(And I was like baby baby baby OHHH, like baby baby baby Nooooo!)

Bye, Franklin!

Completing the Franklin 500, Lizzie and I headed back North. Next stop, Italy!

Your weiners look beautiful in this moonlight

Years ago, Lizzie and I were driving through Woonsocket, RI, and stumbled upon this beauty. It was late at night, and the moon was indeed shining upon the house of weiners in the most radiant way. The moonlight house of weiners never left our minds, so we decided to try to find it for lunch during our trip back home. Fun Fact: If you meet anyone from Woonsocket, RI, which is a 15 minute drive from where we grew up in Franklin, they will say this: "Yeah I'm from Woonsocket. It's a total shithole, but luckily I live in the nice part." Everyone lives in the "nice part" of Woonsocket. It's quite amazing. (And it is a total shithole. Confession: my Great Grandfather is from Woonsocket). Also, a note on pronunciation. The "woon" part of Woonsocket is pronounced "Wun". They try so hard to be pretentious, but then go and name their sports team the Woonsocket Rockets. Le sigh.

Anyway, the Moonlight House of Weiners. We found it again pretty easily, and perused the menu, deciding, obviously, on weiners. (The place smelled of them, and dozens of the questionable meaty beauties lounged on metal rollers, waiting to be scooped up and dressed by the staff, who layered the dogs up the entirety of their arm to lay on the toppings) Each weiner cost a scant $1.07, and came with mustard, onions, and a 'meat sauce'. Lizzie declined the meat sauce, but you know what they say, in for a penny, in for gaining ten pounds, and I said hell yes to the meat sauce. According to the waitress, the weiners were small (that's what she said) so we each had two, plus a small order of fries for me, and a small order of onion rings for Lizzie. We also mainlined diet coke to keep our girlish figures. Verdict: Barf. Though delightfully cheap (our bill was only $14.88), the indigestion associated with our weinervana lasted ALL DAY. We ate around 1pm, and by 9pm I was sort of maybe interested in having some crackers. As we drove from Woonsocket back to Franklin, we groaned uncomfortably and released clouds of weiner vapor in delicate little belches. Tres charmant! Alas, one cannot enter unto a house of weiners, moonlight or otherwise, and expect to escape without one form of discomfort or another.

High School's Over

Lizzie and I went to Oak Street Elementary, which is actually just two wings of the high school. We’d occasionally, on our way to the field house, pass by some of the BIG KIDS who seemed somehow even older than our parents. It was bizarre coming back as the big kids (after a three year hiatus) and even more bizarre coming back now. As we rounded the circle drive in front of the main entrance, my throat tightened a little and the old fear resurfaced. High school was decidedly unpleasant for me, for while I excelled academically, as I possessed the triple threat of being poor, fat and nerdy and therefore was quite the failure socially. Lizzie and I had many of our AP classes together, but we never seemed to line up PE, meaning that the majority of my Physical Education was learning that no one wanted to be badminton partners with me. (Terrible, isn't it? I assume I'm going to win some sort of journalism award for that heart-felt revelation). Things turned around for me, as they do for many people, in college, and now look at me, sliding devil-may-care down the banisters. WHEEEE HIGH SCHOOL! THE BEST YEARS OF YOUR LIFE!!*

*No they're not.