03-29-2003
Rome, INIT
 
Our last show was on a Saturday night in Rome. Our flight out was leaving for Heathrow at 10:00 Sunday morning. Somehow, the whole time I'd believed that we were getting into Chicago at 5:00 Monday morning, after which I'd go home and shower and eat an egg and go straight to work. I discovered, though, that we were getting home at 5:00 Sunday night, which was a big fat monkey off my back, let me tell you.

At this point in the trip I was ready to be on a plane, I was ready to go back. So little sleep for the past few nights, little sleep and long drives, and it's always best, I think, to time these things so you get a night off somewhere in the middle of the trip, something to rest you up from what's come and to prepare you for what's coming. The last few nights of this trip came fast and furious, and by the time we were headed to Rome, I was ready to go home.

Sadly, I don't have much to say about Rome. We drove from Siena, stopped in a non-Autogrille truck stop, and although the café had an entire roast pig on the counter, it was not up to snuff. Traffic was awful in Rome, we crept down a street lined with shops and so busy, and I heard the sound of car horns for the first time since we arrived in Italy.

The INIT Club is brand new, maybe one month old, and I think the kids only come out for Giant Sand shows or whatever. There were a few people there, though; the stage is high, the room is large and sounds good. The people that run it were friendly, as was most everyone we came in contact with on this trip. And since after the show we drove straight to the airport, and waited for our flight; missed our connection at Heathrow, and waited again; and finally went on standby for a later flight and got to Chicago after many many sleepless hours, since this was it for my trip to Rome, well then I need to go back.

But dinner beforehand, just down the street, we all had this seafood carbonara thing that was quite good, and you know? I'm just thinking of where I'd rather be right now; and honestly, though at this point in the trip I was ready to come home, I'd rather be sitting in that restaurant in Rome, post-carbonara, sipping white wine and smoking an MS, one hand on my fattened stomach, practicing Italian with Giovanna. Maybe that goes without saying.


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