Rione XI. S. Angelo

20 Mar 2108 | Rome> Still settling int.o nwavo digs, we was gunna rome our own rione (Pigna) next, bud our plaze aint showroom reddy yet... most of the heavy lifting's dun, jus i-urning out finer d-tails... wich aint ez, lemme tell u, wether still cold + rainy (biblickle shit!) so hard to fare spese + still no Inurnet dear, we god sum sorta skyroam doo-hicky 2 rome da web but shit barely works, likely wheel halve togo upload dis post from UN wifi. In the meantime figgered weed due anudder rione to satisfy our millions of fans + followers out dare (hola!). Bit of a cop-out since hits tiny, aint much mo then a dozen small blocks, but figgered y not roam rione XI, Sant'Angelo, udderwise none as da «Jewish Ghetto».... dont think it's THE ghetto, dat put the G in ghetto, think dat distinktion's given to 1 in Venice (bud again, we aint god Inurnet to factcheck), dat gave rise to dat word day use now in Amerika + elsewares, to signify da plaze where po' ppl of all shapes + sizes + color live shacked up like rats, ma indietro nel giorno le parole in pertickler ment where they put Jews. Romans + Italians god a hystory w/dat, perhaps even invented the idea of segregating semites into shitty pards of town. In Rome, dis b Rione XI, named for Sant'Angelo whoever dat b, probly da same dude the castle was named 4... if it's even a person, probly a holey spirit or ark angle... a cathlick 1 @ dat, just to rub 'er in.

Off course da Romans relegated the Jews to da crappiest low-lying hood most pre-disposed to fludding, packed 'em in like sardines + micromanagerd when they cd leave + what day cd do, fish mongering being 1 of the allowed awcupations, folks came from all ova da eternal cheetah to buy fish slung off slabs of marble in the portico'd ruins of Teatro Marcello. And since Xtians wasnt allowed to loan soldi or open a pawnshop, day told Jews todo dat, so they cd then despise them for hit. Then when WWII rolled around Mussolini's cronies rolled out the red carpet for them Nazis + ship'd whatever Jews was left up to Ahshitz. Shore we b messin' up our fax + dare's probly mo' hystoricle antidotes about da ghetto we shd be inklooting, but again, aint ez bloggin' senza Inurnet. Hits n isshoe tho still to dis day, new breeds of fatshit fucks, can hear 'em nitely makin' a ruckus in da streets b-low, the udder day happend by «Casa Pound» as day was gearing up for sum rally... sorta hipster variation on the fatshit theme to a'peal to yung beardid wanna-be Bklyn types, named for dat notorious x-pat anti-semite Ezra... butt dat Casa Pound squat is near Termini, we sposed to foke us on Rione XI:

< Dare's dat angelo in da ghetto's coat of arms... as if s/he was dare godian angle or sumpin. Nod shore what Ls 2 d-say bout dis rione... aint menny note-worthy bldgs, no souprize sints hits da ghetto, sides the sinagog wich is perty spectackler, from da outside inny way, still haven't ventured inside... even dem yrs we lived a stones throw a cross the riber from hit, we mustered to visit a few times, but u godda make a rez + hit aint open on the sabbath. As usual, we did our rome-antic walkabout on a sabbath, wich u mite says a crumby day todo da ghetto, but our rione roamin' is more about da streets then going into shops + whatnot.

Guess Teatro Marcello + Portico d'Ottavia are notable landmarks... 1 of the few ruins u kin still just wonder thru w/out them charging u an arm + a leg + dare's marble colums lying about temptin' u to take 1 (wd look dope in our new digs yo) if onelie we was plenty strong to hump 1 home. Did we menshun we's making our own pryvet palestra in our attico? Aint mush in the way of running in these parts (we talking about our own rione IX now, not da ghetto) + figgered for the price of joining a gyim (wich in typickle Italian fashion they open banking hours, so if u's a workin' stiff aint hardly time to git yo workout in) we cd git an elliptickle, wich was quiet the undertaking to git 'er up here + all assembled + wired up... basickly had to cobble 'er from scratch. We alreddy had our spin bike ship'd from DC, add a few waits + yogi mats, hang sum straps + resistance bands from the rafters + voila! La palestra:

Dat's all of our pad wheel let u sneak a peek at fer now, the onelie room reddy for primetime. Sides, dis aint god nada todo w/ da ghetto, R.XI. A block or 2 from Portico d'Ottavia is a deadend street wich we's perty sure is da same street @ the beginning of Zoolander II, where Justin Beaver is runnin' away from villins + he knocks frantickly on Sting's door but Sting aint antswearing + sints hits a deadend Beaber is trap'd + shot + up until his finel momints he gots the presents of mind to take selfies of hisself dyin, striking a pose til his last breath. And in An Amerikin in Rome (1954) Nando famously lives in Trastevere, but in an early scene he can be seen walking thru the ghetto near Portico d'Ottavia + when da carabiner cunfronts him about the funny business w/ phoney hand guns he's suddenly outside his Trastevere home, a bit of movie magico. And we already micro-blogged about Beatrice Cenci (dat nymph who was executed for killing her abusive father) + how D Lynch strategically put dat striking painting of her in Mulholland Drive (2001)... well Cenci was a famous ghetto-dwelling denizen. Sure dare's udder movies shot in da ghetto like dat Julia Roberts artsy foodie lovefest or Woody Allen's take, but dat aint w/in the scope of dis hear blog to tock about the likes of dem types of films.

Teatro Marcello (+ sinagog in background)

Portico d'Ottavia (2010)

da sinagog

putting the G in Ghetto (an outlier, udderwise hits perty posh these days)

storefront

d-tail of same wall back in 2009

inside the center 4 Amerikin studys

turtle fountain

Oh + Matt Damon's flat where he murders Phillip Seymour Hoffman in The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999) is just b-hind the abuv turtle font, where he drags him down + stuffs him into the trunk of his car. And just outside the center for Amerikin studies on via Caetani is where back in 1978 they found the red Renault w/prime minister Aldo Moro's body, after he was kidnapped for 55 days by the commie Red Brigadge. We had no idea about dis shit til we saw a plack on da street... reckon dats y we's goin' thru dis rione romin' exorcise, makes 1 stop to smell them flowers u udderwise pass w/o thinkin twice about em. And then dare's dat excentric silver-haired ghetto dweller w/a funky book/art shop where nada is for sale + he dont want u taking no fotos, bud hear's 1 we stole a few yrs back:

+ requisite photo of ghetto artychokes (taken in 2010)—tis the season, btw

ghetto nasone

Da ghetto is famoso food-wise, for what we aint shore as we think all dem plazes r touristy + crappy (y them a'noying dudes gotta stand out front waving menus in yo face), bin to most of 'em, 4 da mos pard all overrated. Our favorite joint in da ghetto is the green door place (think the offishoal name is Sora Margerita), wich may-b gits 5 ★s for food, but ambiants a bit clusterphobic. On dis pertickler walkabout last sabbath we wint to Nonna Betta (★★), had artychokes (the Jewish way of course) + whatnot, served by grumpy smelly waiters disgruntled at having to deal w/ tons of turisti ogni giorni.

Bookwise we just happen to b engaged w/Zeno's Conscience by Italo Svevo... not dat Svevo hails from da Roman ghetto, but he's probly the most famous Jewish-Italian writer if not the onelie 1. In facto, sposedly Leopold Bloom was modeled after Svevo... see, when Joyce (+ Pound, 4 dat matter) was shacked up in Trieste writing Ulysses, he gave inglish lessons to Svevo to make mends eat (the other rumore is dat the rich Svevo spotted Joyce cash during them hard yrs, sum even call him a patron). Well 1 day Svevo was like oh btw i wrote sum shit 2 + handid Joyce a manuscript of Zeno's Conscience wich impressed Joyce enuff dat he pulled sum strings to git 'er published. We's reading the inglish translation (we bot it back b4 we knew we was moving back hear) tho seams a good book as inny to practicare Italiano as hits perty strait up in hits landgauge delivery. Basickly about sum dude dat's a'tempting to quit smoking, wich mite sound monotunis, specially to a non-smoker who thinks cigarettes is 1 of the dumbest habits dis planit gots to offer, but so far (75 or so pgs into her) souprizingly n-gaging. Most of hit perty quotidian, bud then he says shit like: «The most intense life is narrated, in synthesis, by the most rudimentary sound, that of the sea-wave, which, once formed, changes at every instant until it dies!». We dont yet know what Zeno gots todo w/hit... we suspeck must halve sumpin' todo w/dat last cigarette funomena, how u kin never really reach dat end goal...