Downtown Diary

After I had reached unimaginable intellectual heights in Rome and Bologna, it was no surprise that my trip next took a turn downward.

In Milan, I visited the offices of the Rancilio Company, makers of my beloved Rancilio “Rocky” espresso grinder, in the morning. Later, I did a couple of newspaper interviews, and in the evening went to a theater with my editor Bartolomeo Pistola to see an avant-garde piece entitled P/O. I reproduce a bit of the fascinating stage dialogue here:

Character #1: Popo. Op opp ppo po ooooop, po oppooo.

Character #2: Ooopppp! Po popopopo! Pooo, ooopp ... popopop.

As Bartolomeo and I sat in our theater seats, something rather unseemly occurred: He began emitting gasses, that is to say, he began farting. At first I tried to ignore him; then I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and placed it over my snout. Everyone around us started looking at me. I gestured with my eyes toward Bartolomeo, as if to say, “No! HE’S the one!” But they kept looking at me. I shrank in my seat while Bartolomeo proceeded to produce a veritable symphony of gasses. When the play ended we were assaulted by the actors, who were incensed by the degradation of their art by Bartolomeo’s emissions.

That night we fled Milan for Venice, the city of canals.

The next day was sunny and spring was in the air. Bartolomeo and I stood by a street vendor’s cart, sipping double ristrettos (quite delightful) and crunching on biscotti. Suddenly, we heard a commotion coming from the water: It was Indianapolis’ own Bart-tron 2K3 (who I later discovered was in Venice on a “gondola fact-finding mission”) making a fool of himself by attempting to pilot a gondola down the busy waterway. A group of gondoliers stood next to us and chortled heartily. “Goofy robot freak!” they laughed as they puffed on their European cigarettes.

Enraged, I screamed, “Can’t I even go to Italy without you ruining everything, you idiot?!?” and threw a rock-hard biscotti at Bart-tron’s gondola, piercing the boat and causing it — and the robot — to sink with a glug-glug-glug noise.

“You and Bart-tron sure are funny!” Bartolomeo snickered.

“Put a plug in it, stinky,” I muttered.

Next week: Rocky on The Grand Tour, Part 3