Dante has pissed me off. No, really it is Benigni with his mouth open that has me sweating and swearing.
For thirteen nights, Roberto Benigni is reciting from the Divine Comedy in Piazza Santa Croce. Oh, yes, thrilling and significant and all of that. Let me tell you something dear reader, my life is hell (not sure which level yet). Combine the two and Santa Croce and sweltering heat and carabinari and event planners and — most of all — closed roads (!) and you may begin to see the miracle of me being able to leave my apartment. Sure, I’ll admit I was excited at first. Taking pride in my neighborhood and Santa Croce, etc. But after not being allowed to take a left or a right, being herded backwards towards Piazza Signora just to get to a street right next to Santa Croce, following the ambling fanning tourists, carrying a large bag, sweltering in the heat — I realized I had enough. These people need to get out of my town and let me enjoy my last few days here.
Does anyone else see the problem with this picture? If not, it involves my contempt for a cultural event, the inability to recognize this isn’t my home, and a big dash of intolerance not normal to my reserved acceptance of humanity.
But for now, I don’t think I’ll even attempt redemption.