Get in line in that processional

Yesterday was our bus tour of the city with a guide whose accent is impossible to place and perhaps too difficult even to caricature (think Martin Short as bizarro waiter, or Dana Carvey or Mike Meyers doing weird Continental accents, or something). As usual, I am still surprised at what people do for pictures--like this "kissing the Colosseum" classic perpetrated by some of my ducklings.

Today was great, with my long-awaited visit to the Museo Borghese, one of the great museums of the world, the one which I missed last year when one of my students had his breakdown and I spent most of the day making sure he didn't do himself real damage. We had a 9 AM slot (this small place only allows you in for two hours, reservations required) and my group did an amazing job of assembling in the lounge, all but two, in time to leave the lobby at 8:18 (the stragglers caught up before we had turned the corner to get to the Metro, but I think this scared some people, which is a good thing--even this late in the program).

What a place! No photos allowed, which actually is pretty cool, unlike the Vatican which we'll visit tomorrow with our bizarro guide (I will expect more grumbling from the Entitled Ones, including the Communications Major Who Thinks Very Highly Of His Ability To Communicate Even When He Has Nothing Other Than Navel-Gazing To Share), and this little museum has a higher density of amazing sculptures than anywhere else I can imagine, with the possible exception of the Accademia in Florence. I loved the textures on the backs of the grandfather Anchises, son Aeneas and grandson, showing the three ages of masculine musculature, from the wrinkly to the buff to the baby fat. Also memorable were the indentations on bed of the Paulina Bonaparte as Venus (and on Proserpina for that matter), the sadly human face of the dog in the painting of Circe the sorceress, and the dynamic action of the pissed-off David.

There was a special exhibit in the garden by some guy whose name I can't remember, Zledko Scheisskopf or something, that really made me think about how no one will be talking about him 500 years ago, but they'll still be treasuring Bernini and Caravaggio....

I am enduring some weird frustrations: with online train reservations (trying to secure my trip to visit Julius in the gite-house he's rented near Valence in the prime bicycling country in SE France, having pretty much decided that I will have to punt on the possibility of visiting my dad's aging cousins in Germany), as well as wih some shared-kitchen / dorm politics here at the St John's residence hall in Rome (evidently there is at least one kleptomaniac (food stealing) and several breathtaking slobs (e.g., cutting her boyfriend's hair in the bathroom right off the kitchen, and just leaving the mess), with different groups from different colleges blaming each other). This has reached Lord of the Flies levels,as people hoard silverware and bowls in their own rooms, leaving my student Jason to make do with a small shovel and washbasin-size bowl for his oh-so-nutritious cereal.

I think I have finally gotten my trip squared away--more changes than I would like, but that's what I get for traveling on the weekend between July and August.