- I’m making a Donatello costume.
- The Renaissance painter?
- No, the Ninja Turtle.
- That’s right, we’ve never talked about this… you have kids?
- No, it’s for my boyfriend.
- Ah, your boyfriend’s kid?
- No, my boyfriend.
- How old is he again?

The French word for these hottest days of summer, canicule, refers to the word dog. This is because the Dog constellation is visible throughout this period, and the dog’s eye, Sirius, is the sky’s brightest star at this time. Sirius is also the reason for the expression dog days. I haven’t seen it of late, but you can’t miss Jupiter which is very bright and high in the sky these days.

Someone wants to talk to you! I have a friend who’s working on a documentary on people in their 20s or 30s who haven’t left their parents’ home yet.

If that’s you and you’d like to share your story, please comment here or e-mail juliekgirard@gmail.com.

Jonathan mentions today that the Wii Fit has yielded some impressive results in our household, but not really in the manner it was designed for. Ever since I got it in January, it’s replaced my scales for near daily weigh-ins not only because it’s more accurate, but most importantly because it automatically keeps track of things graphically.

As you can see from the slight downward trend at the beginning of this graph, simply getting into the habit of keeping track of my weight with the Wii caused me to lose a few pounds without significantly altering my usual routine (regular gym exercise, eat whatever crap I want). Then in April, I built a healthy meal plan* for Jonathan who wanted to diet, and decided I might as well follow it myself. This coincided with a rush at work and therefore a stop to my regular exercise routine. So my routine became no gym exercise, but eat no crap… and I lost 10 pounds.

I believe the moral of this story isn’t “diet is more important than exercise”, as sticking to this diet-only, no-gym routine would inevitably lead to a weight rebound. Rather, this experience has confirmed for me that: 1) it’s possible to feel full and truly enjoy eating, while maintaining a textbook BMI of 22. 2) Mixing the routine up can really get you over your plateaus.

Now to start exercising again…

* More on the specific diet plan later.

Got to St. Peter’s in the early morning, and without waiting, made it into the grandest church in Italy. It was spectacular simply by virtue of its the sheer size. I’ve seen big churches with little chapels off to the side, this had big churches off to the side. After exploring the tombs of countless saints and popes, I got the guidebook out to see if there wasn’t some famous art somewhere in here. Oh yeah! Michaelangelo’s Pietà. Paused for a second in the spot where Charlemagne was crowned, then moved on back into the sunlight.

Stood in line 55 minutes to get into the Vatican museums, whose sole feature of interest to me was the Sistine Chapel. Going through the museum to the chapel, even by the most direct route, is an exercise in human herding, sweat and anticipation. The multicultural crowd jostles cattle-like through majestic corridor upon majestic corridor, each time thinking the Chapel is next, barely noticing the world-class works all around. Only exception to this for me: Raphael’s rooms, where I was excited to see one of my favorite paintings of all time, the huge School of Athens, in which all the great minds of Antiquity are reunited: Plato, Aristotle, Euclid…

At long last the human wave emerged into the Sistine Chapel. Although the sweat-march and its preceding 55-minute wait in the sun had ensured everyone was properly subdued and exhausted, I conjured some awe at the ceiling and at Judgment Day. The latter is a huge fresco wherein the dead are torn from their graves to face the maker, intended to scare you into obedience. I’m sure I would have been humbled if not surrounded by German tours.

Upon emerging I admit I rejoiced at the thought that my to-see list was now completed. I could spend the rest of my Roman stay sitting in the shade nursing my blistered feet.

I’d been warned that the Vatican would make me “vomit in my mouth” a little considering the difference between its opulence and Jesus’ life. I have to say, though, that every time I’ve seen a ridiculous, over-the-top site, be it Versailles, Borobudur, Hagia Sofia or even the Vegas strip, part of me has been happy that someone had the nerve, the vanity, the impracticality, the recklessness (and yeah, sometimes the faith) to build it. I’m glad extreme places like these exist, though yes, I’m glad they’re rare.

Today was marble day. The house of Octavian (emperor Augustus), the Senate, the Vestal virgin houses, the Colosseum (frankly overhyped), and countless arches and temples. The Romans had lots of gods, and Octavian had an impressive hippodrome adjoining his house (but no Wi-Fi).

Lunched at a trattoria, apprehensively watching a ray of sun the width of the alley slowly creeping towards me. Right before it reached me, I was getting ready to move on but the waiter brought me a glass of cold white wine on the house. I can make an exception today and let myself roast a little, I thought. My new friend kept refilling my glass, and I kept reading and writing well beyond the point when the sun had come and gone, several hours.

In my sunblasted euphoria, my mood seemed to have ranged from the metaphysical to the stupid, judging from my notes.

“Old man smoking pipe on Vespa hilarious!

Older religions think everything always starts all over again. Christians see time going in a direction.

I hate that my left brain never shuts up. I love that the manhole covers in Rome still say SPQR.

Everywhere you go in the world outside n america the coffee’s great and there’s soccer on TV

After 3 days I still don’t know if I go in the Signore or the Signori. Neither seem to have urinals.

Tomorrow, the Vatican. Be nice if God talked to me.”

Great price to quality ratio, those hours. I even got a tan in the bargain.

Spent the day canvassing the “historical district” (as opposed to what?) on foot, and baking in the heat. I find it interesting that historical accounts of Rome tell the story of Romulus and Remus with as much seriousness as they do of the Emperors and Popes that came afterwards. The twins, descendants of Gods and supposed founders of Rome, were abandoned to their own fate as babies but were found and suckled by a she-wolf. This is recounted as normally as the Caesar’s crossing of the Rubicon. I did find one account that suggested they may have been found by a hooker nicknamed “she-wolf”, but I guess it lacks the panache befitting Rome.

I read last year that each city can be described by one word and that the word for Rome is Sex. I don’t find that really accurate. Sure, there are ridiculously muscular, tanned and gelled studs on every corner, some of them priests. Maybe the pigeons seem to court their mates a little more insistently than in Montreal. And yes, gift shops sell close-ups of the choicest parts of nude statues with captions like “WOW!!!” on them, but if anything that’s cartoon sex to me.

If I had to choose a word for Rome it would be Sun. Ever powerful, ubiquitous sun. I can’t remember ever being so conscious of it, as in trying desperately to get out of it (and I’ve been in the Sahara). The Roman sun bakes you as soon as it hits; it washes the city in its crazy bright light, and it blasts away all the colors in any picture I take.

Others might describe Rome as Food, too, but the heat makes it impossible to think of pasta. Or of fucking, for that matter.

A direct flight has its advantages, but it really doesn’t make you feel like you’ve travelled at all. Slept deeply through the night flight then was in my hotel, seemingly in minutes. My mind knew this was Rome but I didn’t feel the journey in my bones. It felt more like I’d taken a bus to Québec City, if that.

Did, however, find myself unable to breathe upon seeing the Colosseum this afternoon. It wasn’t so much the poor Christian bastards who met their end there, nor the Gladiators whose blood I probably would have smelled from where I stood, just a connection to everything that’s happened before my little life and everything that comes after it. That feeling is always short and fleeting, but immensely comforting.

Finished the day the way you imagine a typical moment in Rome. Panacotta and espresso at a trattoria on a square, a fedora’ed quartet playing songs that make everyone sway from side to side, a group of perfectly dressed older Italian men at another table clapping along.

Will head back now, planning to fall asleep in front of bad Italian TV.

- I signed up to give some money monthly to the AIDS foundation and they gave me a bag of goodies. Inside, among other things, was a condom with word AIDS printed all over the wrapper. I think that would kinda kill the mood… but I guess abstinence is good prevention too.

- This week I’m finishing a game project I’ve been producing for the Ubisoft Campus for the past little while. I find I’ve been rebitten by the game production bug. I’ll definitely be looking for a game to produce as soon as I get back from…

- Rome. On Sunday I’m leaving for a short solo romp in the Italian capital. Will eat gelato and prosciutto, visit Roman stuff, draw, do yoga and take a side trip to Pompeii.

Silly (and now sixty) lightspeedmom on our trip to NYC last year. Bonne fête Mom!