Ten things that you might notice if you’re a recovering Catholic visiting St. Peter’s Basilica, the Vatican Museum, and the Sistine Chapel:

 

1. Going through a metal detector to see a church seems more normal than you expected.

 

2. The Popes clearly had a strong (potentially erotic) interest in ancient pagan sculpture.

 

3. It is possible to be overexposed to gigantic Renaissance tapestries.

 

4. Even people who have dreadlocked mullets like to going sightseeing.

 

5. Such powerful waves of human odors wash over you while waiting to view the Sistine Chapel you have no choice but to assume it is impossible to leave the queue to use the bathroom.

 

6. The only way you could ever get anyone to view a gallery of modern Christian art is to force them to wait in a line that cuts through a room. The Vatican Museum has twelve rooms. Several of the pieces were clearly of the “outsider art” movement.

 

7. People who take pictures in the Sistine Chapel despite the dozens of signs that say “Photographs are forbidden” might not be able to read.

 

8. Looking at relics like St. Carl’s toe bone and St. Nancy’s femur and imagining people praying to them made me wonder if these Catholics went to a different Sunday school than me. Because in my Sunday school they taught us that we weren’t supposed to pray to idols and graven images. Actually I guess they didn’t specify toe bones, so maybe that’s open to interpretation.

 

9. Maybe the church could sell this stuff to a private company and use the proceeds to help poor people. Like Mayor Daily and the parking meters, except, you know, not use the money for kick backs and back alley deals.

 

10. My cynicism switched turns to off when I’m confronted by artistic and architectural masterpieces, but I can’t help but wonder (cynically) if that was the point of it.

Don’t take anything for granted. The roommate and I spent the morning asking directions to a Venetian Internet Cafe. Directions in Venice sound like this: Go straight, walk over three bridges, go about 40 meters after that.

 

The problem is that no street is straight for longer than one block, and there are bridges everywhere. And I don’t really know what a meter is. But we were undeterred by the rain, and eventually our trusty iPhones got us to the right spot. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, then noticed this sign:

 

Internet No Work Today.

 

So I sneaked into a fancy hotel and used their business center. Because in Italy you always have to have a back up plan.

Don’t let too many viewings of National Lampoon’s European Vacation turn you into a self-loathing tourist. It’s ok not to know what you’re doing, and to look like a bit of an idiot when you’re traveling. As long as you are respectful and learn how to say “Do you speak English?” in the language of the place you’re visiting, you’re not going to suddenly turn into Clark Griswald.

 

Venice was Euro Disney when the reel Euro Disney was just a glimmer in some Disney Exec’s eye. Very few Italians actually live there, everyone speaks English, the weather is lovely, there are no cars, and it is filled to the brim with tourists. There are so many tourists I kept thinking I was on a movie set. Japanese people were doing zany poses for photographs in St Mark’s square, British people were getting hammered, eastern Europeans were letting pigeons land on their arms and eat seeds out of their hands, and Americans wore their socks and sandals and happily complained about the filthy toilets. I stopped being annoyed after about ten minutes, and had a great time.

 

It’s like being forced to join a club that you always thought you’d hate, then wanting to be the president. And I ate a fish with the head still attached- I think that’s a ride at the real Disney Land right?

When traveling abroad you have to have a healthy awareness of ripoff artists. But if you’re too careful, you might miss out on an adventure.

 

For example, my roommate and I went to the train station today to get to Venice. Due to my hyper-paranoia we got there about an hour early. We stood around until the train information was posted then slowly got our baggage together. I speak twelve words of Italian, which is enough to find your carriage and seat number on an Italian train. It was going to be an easy trip.

 

We started walking towards the train when an officious Italian in a blue shirt rushed up to my roommate and demanded to know what carriage we were in- “Uno” and seat numbers (I had to point to 73 and 74 because those words are beyond my Italian vocabulary). The Italian said “Theese waya” and rushed off. Immediately responding to his authoritative air, we dragged our bags behind us and tried to keep up.

 

After about twelve steps we turned to each other and wondered who exactly this guy was. It’s not typical for an Italian official to offer their assistance. It’s not typical for an Italian official to rush anywhere. I’m not saying these things in criticism, it’s just a reliable aspect of Italian culture. Also Italians love uniforms, and insist on sashes and badges to spruce up any work enforced dress codes. Even the garbage men wear epaulets. Arriving at car number one- which was easy enough to find thanks to the huge numeral one posted on the side- our unsolicited assistant motioned us to follow. The roommate and I banged our suitcases up the steps and paused to wipe the sweat from our brows.

 

We looked up to see the Italian gesturing to our seats. “Theese eesa eet.” He said helpfully. Well not that helpful really. A goat would have been as helpful by pawing at the ground in front of our seats. We nodded and sat down. “Grazie” I said. My roommate nodded. The Italian put his hand out.

 

“Teepa” he said.

 

“Wha?” I replied.

 

“Eet eesa customary to geeve a tipa” he clarified. My roommate and I looked and each other and snickered.

 

“No” we said in unison.

 

“Eet is customary to geeve a tipa” he repeated.

 

Obviously this guy had a good thing going- pretend to help Americans find their seats on the train, then shame them into giving a tip. But I had encountered better schemes then this. I told the guy in broken Italian that we didn’t have a tip for him, and he could stick it. He was both incredulous and furious and stalked off like he was going to make a shank out of a toothbrush and a lighter. We couldn’t help but be smug for getting the better of this rip off artist.

 

Waiting for the train to depart, we watched three other sets of Americans suffer the same fate. One husband and wife gave their scam-porter ten Euro, another pair of girls gave a two Euro coin, but ponied up more when they guy kept standing their with his hand out. I yelled “You don’t have to pay him” to no avail. Shame goes a long way with Americans, but standing up to a scumbag just feels so good.

 

Although I am a staunch anti-smoker in America (with the except of the occasional drunken indiscretion), when I am abroad I accept the local custom of smoking everywhere.

 

I never sneer when I see an Italian woman pushing a baby carriage while lighting a cigarette, and am forever patient when motorini drivers almost mow me down while smoking and talking on their cell phones with typical gesticulations.

 

Since Italy went non-smoking in 2005, I wondered if the bars and Trattorias would be empty and smelly, as were so many south side watering holes in Chicago. Especially the Wabash Tap,which reeks like the Dunkin Donuts next door so much that sometimes I wonder if they’ve got a black market donut operation going in their own kitchen.

 

Anyway: good news. The smoking “ban” in Rome makes bars and restaurants more pleasant to sit in, while the Romans have maintained their penchant for multitasking while lighting up. I think everyone wins in this arrangement. Except maybe the babies…but they’ll understand when they’re older.

I have been to Italy many times and am forever charmed by the local fashion. I was worried that with the success of the European Union would come watering down of Italian style. My first day in Rome I was saddened to discover that men no longer wore skin tight pants, but delighted to see that they had adopted red and pink pants with a passion previously reserved for sculpted facial hair. Everything will be ok, indeed.

Ladies: I hope you are prepared for sequined everything, because that’s what’s the gals are rocking over here.

Today I learned that a Valium is no match for three women sitting next to you who are on their way to their first trip to Italy together and are baffled by the chocolate croissant that comes with the airplane breakfast. It was easier to take my headphones off and explain (with a smile of course) that it is a croissant with chocolate in the middle. I might have been inclined to guzzle wine and curse quietly at them, but it wasn’t worth it. Instead I remembered that I was on my way to a country that requires great courage, patience, and a joy for life. So I also told them that the pink stuff in the breakfast sandwich was bacon.

The Roommate and I are leaving the country together. While we adventure our way through Rome and Venice, I will strive to keep my many rapid fans up to date on my activities and observations. I plan on photographing pigeons who speak Italian and meatballs in their native country. Assuming that Sweden is not the meatball country of origin. I’ll look that up later.

 

If you have any immediate questions about our travels or non-Americans, please email advice@poorluckyme.com. I want to address all my readers’ concerns.

 

Dear Poor Lucky Me,

 

Do you think it is still so bad-ass to climb Mt. Everest? Now there are Sherpas setting lines ahead of the climbers and is seems like all you need now is enough money and time to do it. There is even a T.V. show about it. And if memory serves, Homer Simpson made it to the top.

 

I know that it is still balls cold up there and all, but I think that guy who ran a marathon in stilts accomplished a more impressive feat.

 

Total time was 8 hours, 57 minutes and 58 seconds.

 

Signed,

Now that Swayze is gone, who will be our tough guy?

 

Dear Tough Guy,

 

I don’t think anyone will ever replace Swayze as the sexiest danciest manliest tough guy to live. Our world is a little less colorful without him in it.

 

But, I promise you, climbing Mount Everest is still badass. Seriously. I mean, it’s so badass that I have to yell “badass” every time I type it. The marathon was an admirable, incredible accomplishment. Mount Everest will kill you. Plus, you don’t know how horrible it is until you bought all the equipment and got all the way to Napal and climbed for days to get to the base camp…you can’t just stay “ahh this sucks. I’ll be at Starbucks.” A big part of being badass is doing stuff you can’t easily back out of.

 

Additionally, I think it’s bogus that just because a really hard thing is made slightly easier people act like it’s not a big deal anymore. Like in college, when I took the class “Erroneous Beliefs and How We Maintain Them” and everyone acted like it was the easiest math requirement just because we always used a calculator. Well let me tell you: if you don’t put all the right numbers and symbols in the calculator, it doesn’t work. Math is hard not matter how many gadgets you can use.

 

Sincerely,
Poor Lucky Me

Dear Poor Lucky Me,

 

I’ve had my desk in the far corner of my office for quite some time now. I really like being alone. I can eat whatever I want, pass gas, talk on the phone. It’s a paradise as far as cubicle placement goes.

 

Last week, the new person noticed that there were a couple open desks near me and has asked to move his work station. I would prefer he change his mind before he gets settled.

 

The move is taking place next Friday…any great ideas on how to nicely discourage him from changing desks?

 

Signed,
Nothing Too Gross Or Mean Please

 

Dear Nothing Too,

 

Lucky for you I happen to be working on a similar project of me own, so I have already done a lot of research.

 

Tomorrow, go over to the offending co-worker and in a friendly and open manner, offer to bring him or her a refreshing beverage from the vending machine. (NOTE: This gag works best with a soda or “pop” can, so try and time it right so the co-worker doesn’t ask for coffee.)

 

Once you select and purchase the drink, open the pull tab. Do not tamper with the contents. Walk back to you co-worker, laughing maniacally and snorting. Hand the can over without making eye contact, still snickering. Your opponent will be wary.

 

If they ask you if you’ve done something to the drink, act hurt. Insist that they drink it in front of you. Keep making a huge issue about it until they are very uncomfortable and freaked out.

 

Say things like “What do you think I’d do to your drink? Do you think there’s a reason I’d want to mess with you? Don’t you trust me?” When they finally relent and take a sip, clap your hand over your mouth and keep saying “Oh Damn!” over and over again. Laugh hysterically and gag a little between gasping for breath. When they ask what you’re laughing at, insist it’s nothing and walk quickly away.

 

This is a proven way to keep this person from wanting to have anything to do with you whatsoever.

 

Best,
Poor Lucky Me