Monday, March 12, 2007
Religious Experiances
What? Oh, hello. I didn't see you there.
...
Oh this? This isn't my wig. I was just holding it for a friend... from Hammersmith. Anyway, what can I do for you? Continue telling you about my Spring Break adventures? Well, alright. Where did I leave off.. oh yes. I remember now.
There I was, a giant to these people, many times taller than even the tallest of houses, and the Lillapudlians were screaming that their palace was on fire. Now perhaps it was just because I'd had a little too much to drink that night but... what else was I to do? They needed a way to put out the fire and I could naturally provide one.
...What? That's not where I left off? Oh, I get confused sometimes. I suppose I could tell you all about Jesus Camp.
Lyss and I got into Florence at a little after 8 o'clock in the evening. That's round about the time that any good italien, or someone hoping to enjoy their cultural quirks, would go out to dinner. The two of us were feeling peckish, so we figured we might as well go find some food too. But first we had to drop our bags off at the hostel.
My first impression of my room was dull. I simply noticed that there were 8 beds and mine was the one closest to the door. It was not only that I was tired, but that the hostel rooms were set up in such a was as to numb the part of the human brain that forms oppinions. While the walls of the hallways were near sensory overload, as they had been marked and signed and drawn uppon by all of the hostel's past guests, the rooms were so boring that my eyes could not focus for any amount of time. After two seconds of looking in any direction self preservation dictated that I must move my eyes to find something more interesting lest I go blind out of bordem. There was honestly absolutely nothing remarkable about my room. 8 beds, the one closest to the door was mine. Not so much as an interesting water stain that looked like Alexander Hamilton. I just wanted to get out and explore the city so that I could escape from the white noise that was my room.
Alyssa's room was more interesting.
Let this serve as a lesson to you ladies out there who might be thinking of booking a girls only room in a hostel (and allow me to burst the bubbles of any young men out there who might have their own naughty ideas about what goes on behind those closed doors), the kinds of girls who book rooms like that ARE Bible Belters. And not just your run of the mill typical conservative Christians, these are the people who love Jesus militantly. The kind of people I fear will drag me from my bed at night and nail me to a lower case T. Picture Mel Gibson as a group of college aged girls. That's who Alyssa was rooming with (it's a wonder she survived). She didn't see them at first. The room was empty, except for the five beds made military style, at least one of which was adorned by a (spare?) Bible (which is fine I guess, I like to do a little light reading before bed too).
The two of us came back from dinner (and the gillato that preceeded it) at about ten. We wanted to change our shoes before we went out to explore the city. Jesus Camp was already in bed, sound asleep. Now, I know its a bit pre-school to tease people for having an early bedtime, but even I wanted to check out the nightlife, and I think Jesus would agree.
We went out, we walked throughout the city, we hid from other ICLC students because its just not an exotic vacation if you run into the girl who always needs your help using the photocopier, and we returned dead on our feet, barely able to keep our eyes open. It was midnight. Alyssa collapsed into her bed, and I tried to collapse into mine. But there was a slight problem. The female Jesus Campers had brought their somewhat androgynous, but apparently male friend with him. I don't want to make fun of his weight problem, but he had the top bunk, and it was sagging down so much that I had to suck in my stomache to fit on my bed.
The morning was worse. My Jesus Camper's alarm went off at six in the morning. It played an Irish jig that would have been merry had it been played at a time other than six in the morning. He hit snooze. The jig was no more merry at 6:01, or 6:02, or any of the other 58 minutes until 7am when he actually tumbled out of bed and the very foundation of the building shook. Meanwhile, Alyssa's five Jesus camper woke up promptly at six, and proceeded to gossip 'til the sun come up. They whispered, I'm told, but it was a stage whisper, the kind you use when you want to make it very clear to the audiance that you're speaking in hushed tones, but you want them to hear everything you say. One of the commandments SHOULD be thou shalt not be an ass and wake strangers up.
The epilogue to my tale about Jesus Camp is that later that morning, while I was waiting for the shower, Jesus Camp (male) spent 15 minutes in front of the mirror adjusting the angle that his gelled hair was at. But no matter how hard he pushed his bangs back, his self confindense wouldn't go up.
But on the subject of religion, I met two angels on my trip. I didn't think I believed in angels, but I was wrong. Well, other than David Boreanaz of course.
I met the first angel in Vatican City, which I guess is fitting. Alyssa and I were looking for this hole in the wall Gillattoria which, according to legend, sells scoops the size of your head and for cheaper than anywhere else in the city. This is true. However, Meg, who told us about the legendary shoppe, was a little vague on the directions. All we knew was that we were supposed to take a right at Saint Peter's Square. Lyss and I had done that, however unintentionally, as we were looking for a WC. No sooner had Alyssa looked at me and said that she coud go for a frozen treat, but a miracle happened. The clouds parted and the sky openned up. We could hear a choir of cherabim with a back up band of seraphim on brass playing from on high, and there in a great etherial spotlight was an angel in blue jeans. We knew he was an angel because he had wings, though they had disguised themselves as a leather jacket and pair of glasses. He had teeth that were beyond white one the colour scale, they were two notches above ultra white. He asked, but we understood he knew the answer, if we were looking for the Old Arch (or something I dont remember the name) Gillottoria. We said 'yes' as our souls quaked. He told us we need only follow the road we were on until it went around a bend. Then, in a flash of light and white feathers he was gone. Now maybe he wasn't really an angel. Maybe we were just talking to a bubble of swamp gas reflecting the planet Venus, but the gillato was real... and huge. Alyssa was David to the frozen creamy Goliath.
The last angel was the bus driver I met outside Stanstead airport. He was somewhat less impressive looking. He looked like Mark Addy with a squished face, but I didn't care. Whoever decided that the busses and trains stop running from Stanstead BEFORE the last flights land should be deported to Naples. When I got through past port control, I thought I was going to have to spend the night in the international terminal, or hitch a ride with the nice man with the hook and the crazy eyes, or commit a crime so I could spend the night in jail. But angelic Mark Addy had other plans. He saw me wandering around the bus depot, shivering because I was dressed for a say in Rome, and invited me on his magic (not school) bus. It was filled with Croatian tourists that had chartered a bus to Kings Cross. But there was an open seat and he offered it to me. It is thanks to Him that I made it home that night, or maybe just that I made it home in one piece.
-Tim
...
Oh this? This isn't my wig. I was just holding it for a friend... from Hammersmith. Anyway, what can I do for you? Continue telling you about my Spring Break adventures? Well, alright. Where did I leave off.. oh yes. I remember now.
There I was, a giant to these people, many times taller than even the tallest of houses, and the Lillapudlians were screaming that their palace was on fire. Now perhaps it was just because I'd had a little too much to drink that night but... what else was I to do? They needed a way to put out the fire and I could naturally provide one.
...What? That's not where I left off? Oh, I get confused sometimes. I suppose I could tell you all about Jesus Camp.
Lyss and I got into Florence at a little after 8 o'clock in the evening. That's round about the time that any good italien, or someone hoping to enjoy their cultural quirks, would go out to dinner. The two of us were feeling peckish, so we figured we might as well go find some food too. But first we had to drop our bags off at the hostel.
My first impression of my room was dull. I simply noticed that there were 8 beds and mine was the one closest to the door. It was not only that I was tired, but that the hostel rooms were set up in such a was as to numb the part of the human brain that forms oppinions. While the walls of the hallways were near sensory overload, as they had been marked and signed and drawn uppon by all of the hostel's past guests, the rooms were so boring that my eyes could not focus for any amount of time. After two seconds of looking in any direction self preservation dictated that I must move my eyes to find something more interesting lest I go blind out of bordem. There was honestly absolutely nothing remarkable about my room. 8 beds, the one closest to the door was mine. Not so much as an interesting water stain that looked like Alexander Hamilton. I just wanted to get out and explore the city so that I could escape from the white noise that was my room.
Alyssa's room was more interesting.
Let this serve as a lesson to you ladies out there who might be thinking of booking a girls only room in a hostel (and allow me to burst the bubbles of any young men out there who might have their own naughty ideas about what goes on behind those closed doors), the kinds of girls who book rooms like that ARE Bible Belters. And not just your run of the mill typical conservative Christians, these are the people who love Jesus militantly. The kind of people I fear will drag me from my bed at night and nail me to a lower case T. Picture Mel Gibson as a group of college aged girls. That's who Alyssa was rooming with (it's a wonder she survived). She didn't see them at first. The room was empty, except for the five beds made military style, at least one of which was adorned by a (spare?) Bible (which is fine I guess, I like to do a little light reading before bed too).
The two of us came back from dinner (and the gillato that preceeded it) at about ten. We wanted to change our shoes before we went out to explore the city. Jesus Camp was already in bed, sound asleep. Now, I know its a bit pre-school to tease people for having an early bedtime, but even I wanted to check out the nightlife, and I think Jesus would agree.
We went out, we walked throughout the city, we hid from other ICLC students because its just not an exotic vacation if you run into the girl who always needs your help using the photocopier, and we returned dead on our feet, barely able to keep our eyes open. It was midnight. Alyssa collapsed into her bed, and I tried to collapse into mine. But there was a slight problem. The female Jesus Campers had brought their somewhat androgynous, but apparently male friend with him. I don't want to make fun of his weight problem, but he had the top bunk, and it was sagging down so much that I had to suck in my stomache to fit on my bed.
The morning was worse. My Jesus Camper's alarm went off at six in the morning. It played an Irish jig that would have been merry had it been played at a time other than six in the morning. He hit snooze. The jig was no more merry at 6:01, or 6:02, or any of the other 58 minutes until 7am when he actually tumbled out of bed and the very foundation of the building shook. Meanwhile, Alyssa's five Jesus camper woke up promptly at six, and proceeded to gossip 'til the sun come up. They whispered, I'm told, but it was a stage whisper, the kind you use when you want to make it very clear to the audiance that you're speaking in hushed tones, but you want them to hear everything you say. One of the commandments SHOULD be thou shalt not be an ass and wake strangers up.
The epilogue to my tale about Jesus Camp is that later that morning, while I was waiting for the shower, Jesus Camp (male) spent 15 minutes in front of the mirror adjusting the angle that his gelled hair was at. But no matter how hard he pushed his bangs back, his self confindense wouldn't go up.
But on the subject of religion, I met two angels on my trip. I didn't think I believed in angels, but I was wrong. Well, other than David Boreanaz of course.
I met the first angel in Vatican City, which I guess is fitting. Alyssa and I were looking for this hole in the wall Gillattoria which, according to legend, sells scoops the size of your head and for cheaper than anywhere else in the city. This is true. However, Meg, who told us about the legendary shoppe, was a little vague on the directions. All we knew was that we were supposed to take a right at Saint Peter's Square. Lyss and I had done that, however unintentionally, as we were looking for a WC. No sooner had Alyssa looked at me and said that she coud go for a frozen treat, but a miracle happened. The clouds parted and the sky openned up. We could hear a choir of cherabim with a back up band of seraphim on brass playing from on high, and there in a great etherial spotlight was an angel in blue jeans. We knew he was an angel because he had wings, though they had disguised themselves as a leather jacket and pair of glasses. He had teeth that were beyond white one the colour scale, they were two notches above ultra white. He asked, but we understood he knew the answer, if we were looking for the Old Arch (or something I dont remember the name) Gillottoria. We said 'yes' as our souls quaked. He told us we need only follow the road we were on until it went around a bend. Then, in a flash of light and white feathers he was gone. Now maybe he wasn't really an angel. Maybe we were just talking to a bubble of swamp gas reflecting the planet Venus, but the gillato was real... and huge. Alyssa was David to the frozen creamy Goliath.
The last angel was the bus driver I met outside Stanstead airport. He was somewhat less impressive looking. He looked like Mark Addy with a squished face, but I didn't care. Whoever decided that the busses and trains stop running from Stanstead BEFORE the last flights land should be deported to Naples. When I got through past port control, I thought I was going to have to spend the night in the international terminal, or hitch a ride with the nice man with the hook and the crazy eyes, or commit a crime so I could spend the night in jail. But angelic Mark Addy had other plans. He saw me wandering around the bus depot, shivering because I was dressed for a say in Rome, and invited me on his magic (not school) bus. It was filled with Croatian tourists that had chartered a bus to Kings Cross. But there was an open seat and he offered it to me. It is thanks to Him that I made it home that night, or maybe just that I made it home in one piece.
-Tim
# posted by Mr Tim @ 9:40 AM 
