My friends are in Rome this week. They are good Catholic Gay Boys and are in a frenzy about seeing the big church Daddy for Easter.
I warned them Easter might be the Popes busy season and not to expect Mimosas on the balcony with him.
Of course a local priest from the Cathedral is in Rome right now attending re-education camp or something and They have been in touch. The gents seem always well connected. They got back stage passes to the Vatican for the Resurrection. How cool is that.
I wanted them to go to Pompeii while they were in Italy. I thought it would be more uplifting to see the plaster casts of the long dead than to smell the vestments of the near dead in his Holinesses gymnasium sized walk in closet. I went to a Gay Bar in Salt Lake City once and saw enough special underwear for this lifetime.
I didn’t really care where they went. I just want to see Pompeii myself. The internet censors excavated bath house porn. Porn that old has got to be educational. One hears the Romans thought every hole was the same in the dark.
Cart ruts are said to be worn into the ancient pavement and shops still have wares on the shelf way past their sell by date. Ancient public baths still sport a yellow ring around the rim. It is a moment frozen in time that Archeologists struggle to keep from defrosting.
Parts of the city remain as yet unexcavated. I plan to rent a backhoe and help out a little. The thrill of discovering the previously known but now unknown holds a thrill. Imagine the connection we would feel finding a wind up vibrator in a two thousand year old night stand.
The Vatican? Meh!