More Rain, and Other Distractions

More rain. The weather here is becoming a joke that might be funnier if I didn't have to trudge through it. At least the general sogginess gives me an excuse to chain myself to my desk and chip away at my novel, which is moving steadily along. Still, the distraction of the Internet frequently proves irresistable, a link to the pageant of bread and circuses back home, at the heart of the American Empire.

Click, and I can now read a flattering profile of debut authoress Nicole Ritchie. Click, and I learn that a moderately entertaining, though slightly baggy bit of fluff called Prep is one of the best books of the year. Click, and I snicker over an amusing, ironic tribute to the inventor of Stove Top stuffing.

And all this is from the New York Times.

News from the American Academy? The author Oscar Hijuelos was supposed to have visited, but had to cancel at the last minute. We went on with the dinner in his honor without him. In a week or so Laurie Anderson is coming to give a talk. There have been many, many other talks and concerts and tours, a ceramic factory here, a classical ruin there, a sumptuous villa, a collection of drawings off-limits to the public. I could spend a year simply looking at it all. And it might be a profitable investment of my time, but I feel drawn to this book I'm working on. My characters have gotten themselves into deep, deep trouble, and it's up to me to find out what happens to them.

Down the hill, the alleys of Trastevere are decked out with Christmas tinsel and lights. Ornaments are expensive here, and people who put up trees seem to prefer plastic to real. Better for the environment, cheaper, and generally easier to deal with, I suppose. It's also the season for Rome's many, many churches to transform into concert halls. There's a chamber concert this Sunday that I'm planning to catch.

I'm beginning to get used to the buses here, which I used to avoid and still do if I can possibly walk. I've learned that flagging a driver down does no good if you are not standing directly under the sign indicating an official bus stop. Standing a few feet away is an invitation for the driver to ignore you completely and speed by, leaving you to stand in the wet and the cold, waiting another twenty minutes for another ride. In general, the drivers seem a bored, grumpy lot, unwilling to give cogent directions or wait a second longer than necessary for you to fight your way to the door to get off when it's your stop. A friend of mine, riding his bike, was recently hit by a bus that might have continued to squeeze the very life out of him had the passengers inside not risen up and cried out in protest.

The other thing I've learned about Rome is that generally there is some kind of miraculous sight behind every corner if you're patient and willing to explore a little. Generally this kind of miracle involves entering a church. For example, the Santa Maria degli Angeli, which Michelangelo carved out of the ruins of the baths of Diocletian, or the ordinary-looking San Pietro in Vincoli, where I met my new friend Matteo last week. (Matteo Bianchi is an extraordinary Italian author whose works deserve to be translated into English, and hopefully soon they will be.) "Do you know what's inside?" I asked him as we sat on the front steps. No, he'd never been. "Come on, then," I said, so we went in. There are two miracles inside the church of Saint Peter "in chains." First are the actual chains used to bind Saint Peter when he came to Rome. Don't bother wondering if they're real. Every relic in Italy is real. The other, true miracle in this church is Michelangelo's Moses, who sat pondering in the dark when we walked up to him. A crowd of tourists were peering into the shadows, trying to make him out, until I put fifty cents into the light machine and became a hero for half a minute.

Inevitably, miracles become tiresome, and in search of respite, I went with two friends to the Warner Village multiplex where a mob had gathered to watch the new Harry Potter movie. Though the first showing was at 3:10, the box office didn't open until 3, and a mob of Italians held a siege of the box office demanding tickets. At any given moment, the two ticket sellers were serving about ten arguing customers at once. A handsome "steward" named Claudio stood by in his official Warner uniform and calmly looked on. In Italy, there are always at least two people to do every job, one to do the work, and the other to watch. Inside the theater, you feel as though you might be in America, with the smell of popcorn and the overpriced drinks and candy. The only major differences are the VIP smoking lounge and a soft drink for sale called "Pepsi BOOM!"

My friends and I went to the theater showing the "original version" (aka, not dubbed) of the movie, found our seats, and waited for the lights to go down. After twenty-five minutes of ear-splitting commercials and previews, the lights came up and then down again, and then the movie began. And for a couple of hours, we lost ourselves in a fantasy of special effects, art direction, and a world in which every question has one answer.