To Bathe in the Fountain, To Swing on the Spiral

Today, Carmen visited the ornately humongous monument that the Catholic Church built to honor its two-millenia genocide against contradictory thought, Jews, and the Earth's revolution around the Sun.  It was great! Observations were made, such as: Catholic sculptors, although totally sick, have this weird fetish for arming babies with weapons, lutes, and mini-harps.  The Vatican is large enough to house at least four con-current proms.  Beneath the floor there's this sepulcher where they've buried all the previous Popes.  Scattered throughout the place are ancient, semi-transparent manhole covers that allow one to see into the underground mass grave. There have been a lot of Popes.  The Vatican is sponsored by WIND, a European cell-phone provider.  In the free part of the place, about two thousand people mill around, but in the three Euro a head museum there isn't a soul.  Not one.  There are workers but no guests.  Carmen may have been the only person all day to see the war elephant tusks from the Crusade, Pope John Paul II's four finger ring.

After today Carmen now has two regrets logged for his short, privileged life:

1. Not buying the Haitian virility sculpture of the man fellating himself.

2. Not taking a picture of the war elephant tusks from the Crusades.

Reports were made to Carmen from multiple sources as to Italians geniality and grasp of the English language.  So far, these reports seem false, especially in relation to Italian waiters, whose dispositions reflect something around autistic death camp overseers.  Whatever Italians speak English have obviously gone into hiding, replacing themselves with curt, angry, impatient people who like to stare and make you feel like a dumbyhead.

Also, a braking Vespa-rider fell and got his head partially ran over by the taxi adjacent to Carmen's.  His helmet absorbed it really well!  Everyone helped pull the motorcycle off of his legs. Good for him.

This morning the system tried to fist Carmen by bringing up requirements that would force his taking of a four-day a week Advanced Review of Italian class.  In response, Carmen misled the machine by agreeing to this, and then, by utilizing loopholes, managed to not only avoid the class but reduce his schedule to two days a week.  Carmen now has five day weekends, every week.  Good for him.