Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Diary of the Dumb American Tourist

Diary of the Dumb American Tourist
Entry one: Rome, Italy and the beautiful woman with the rich cherry red smile.
By: James Allen McDonnell

Mr. Jules, as I called him; was the first person who I’d met in Italy. He really knew just how to get a na├»ve tourist such as myself into a whole--lot--of--trouble.
“Or perhaps Mr. Jules just figured it was just customary to send foreigners on one big detour upon our own expense,” I thought to myself hours later when I ended up at a pigmy goat farm, Instead of the Monzulli Museum of Roman history, in which I asked the kind gentleman directions to an hour before.
"Well--at that point, I still liked the guy. However; it must have been my converse tennis shoes or faded levi’s that was a dead give-away.”
“Dumb Americano," I can still hear him saying in my head, as he tosses back a few more long islands. 24’s is where I met him; the nearest bar I found once I got off the airplane. I needed a stiff drink after the jetlag.
Now, let’s fast forward an hour. I am currently on a bus, headed to as I mentioned before: The Monzulli Museum of Roman history. Why? Well the guy by the name of Mr. Jules who was the first native Italian I met here in Rome said it was a landmark here; a real must see. Funny I never heard of the place before. That’s after all, what intrigued me.
The bus ride isn’t bad at first. A beautiful dark complected woman with a rich cherry red smile comes onto the bus at our first stop. Piccalo street. I peek my head out the window as she enters the bus and catch a whiff of a robust spaghetti sauce, coming from what looks like Nello’s Fine Italian bakery adjacent the bus; across the street.
“Wow, that smells good,” I think to myself.
However, I am intrigued by the streetwalkers I just notice; Three females. They look like they want to party.
“Wait--a--minute...there’s something familiar about them,” I quickly ascertain these street walkers are in fact; hookers.
Ok...back to the beautiful dark complected woman with the rich cherry red smile. Once, she enters the bus, She stands just above me; quite close in fact. The bus is tumbling along the bumpy road to the Monzulli Museum of Roman history and her and I almost meet lip to lip as the bus just apparently just hit a big pot hole in the road. She stumbles, falls, and lands right onto my lap. She winks and I back to her. I begin to feel strangely energized by our encounter but that feeling is soon overtaken by fear, however, when I notice when we hit the pot-hole, we are but mere feet from the edge of a bluff. I know when I see a sign that says, “Di'Admondo Bluff.”
A lady, I’d figure in her mid-50’s is watching me the whole time. "She’s from around here," I muffle to myself.

"I am wearing blue-jeans. Of course I am an American. They know this. I mean we have no sense of adventure when it comes to fashion. Everyone on the bus besides me is wearing colorful clothing, nothing short of red’s and yellows."
Kaboom! -  The bus hits another pot hole.
“What the hell is going on? I chaff.
“Bageento, Monna akeeta,” Some guy inadvertently yells.
“Oh my, she’s back in my lap again.”
"Hi," I say, Keenly checking my breath to make sure it doesn’t smell.

“First impressions, man.”
She says something back in broken English. “Ok, sir, you good too.” Her breath hits me with the faint and sweet lingering smell of marijuana. This time my eyes continue to reel every single one of her body movements in. She’s not only beautiful but I can feel a strange chemistry forming between us.
"I’m single. I’m here to have a good time. Maybe she is too."
My mind goes back to the smell of marijuana on her breath.
“Again… I’m on vacation. I should find out if she has some and wants to share.”
I begin to think this occurrence might be fate. It suddenly begins to get hot on the bus, probably from everyone’s apparent nervousness from our crazy bus driver. He isn’t but 19 years old I figure.
"He’s been as cool as a cucumber (Forget the clique) even though we just about went over the bluff,” I think to myself.
So I go back to checking out the dark complected woman with the rich cherry red smile.
“Hmm. Jeans vest. Nice busts underneath. Better yet, now she’s now taking the jeans jacket off.”
Underneath she’s wearing skinny white spaghetti shirt. Around her neck, I see a medallion of St. Marta yet partially I can make out a tattoo of some kind; looks like a horse underneath her hair against her neck.
“Ok, she’s religious, yet she sports a tattoo on her neck.”
In slow motion, she stretches her arm outwards and hangs it over the pulls bars on the bus and I get a surprise. She has hairy armpits. I never realized that the women in Italy never shaved. Surprisingly, her lack of grooming doesn’t detour me away from wanting to get to know her better.
The bus suddenly stops; a few people get off including the dark complected woman with the rich cherry red smile. I decide to get off the bus to follow her.
I haven’t paid attention but I am in the middle of the country side now. I notice a few small farm houses off the side. I smell manure in the air. The bus takes off and I impulsively call out to the woman, “Hey.” She doesn’t respond, just keeps moving forward.
I jog up to her. She looks over, smiles and immediately grabs my hand, placing it in hers. I gesture to her, about the marijuana, motioning taking a toke. She gets it. She pulls out a small baggy with a few buds.
“Not far,” She says to me.

I think to myself, “Good thing---this back-pack with all my stuff is beginning to feel heavy.”
We come up to a barn. Just around the corner a slew of pigmy goats penned up flimsy  barbed-wire fence present itself. There is a small house off to the side. I hear someone call out, “Mordrana!”
She takes me into the barn. She say’s to me softly, “Here you wait,” then taps me gently on top of my zipper.  I take off my back-pack, get comfortable in the multiple shreds of hay that lay on the floor, then she exits out of the barn.
“Oh, I cant wait to tell my friends back home of this experience.” I say to myself.
 A minute later, I hear her come back in. I am partially undressed, in anticipation to make love to Mordrana. I envision every climatic moment we’ll spend rolling around in the hay.
It’s still dark. “Mordrana?” I call out to her.
Instead of a female’s voice coming to greet me, I hear a few angry males say, “Inanamoto.”
I go to grab my back pack with everything I own inside; it’s not there. I scramble around quickly and frantically and then the last thing I remember is a club over my head. I then softly fell asleep.
I woke back in a smelly garbage dumpster, just behind 24’s; the nearest bar I found once I got off the airplane where I met him the famous Mr. Jules.
As you have noticed, this is the 3rd time I make reference to him being famous. Well, being the dumb American tourist I apparently am, as I staggered back to my feet and meandered past the window of the 24’s, I see the dark complected woman with the rich cherry red smile laughing it up with Mr. Jules. It seems this wasn’t the first time; they pulled off this caper together. Just as they saw me, peering through the glass, they were gone.

Saturday, September 24, 2011

The Knots that bind us
By: James Allen McDonnell

For those who wonder...
What about those knots? I do not mean to pry but let us not lie to each other, with the druthers that our current world is in according to every radio show and television newscast, it is apparently true. 
The proof:
Count any/or all your negative thoughts for the week or better yet, words that you may have posted recently on social networks.
If you tallied up more words or thoughts than you can count on your fingertips then unfortunately, you are guilty of knots - the same ones that we contract every day from the news or our friends who purge at us.
Personally, I make every attempt to remove myself from the equation of politics and all other trivial news related events. Recently I told a long time friend of mine: “if a tidal wave was headed for my home, I will be the last person in the world to find out”. Quickly his rebuttal was..."You must stay informed". I asked, “informed about what? ‘Trivial circumstances’?”
What you feed your mind with affects the following:
Your mood, relationship, work performance, health and even more importantly, your personal psyche, better known as your aura.
So when you go to bed, what do you think about before you turn out the lights?  Do you believe that there is a higher power at work taking care of your worries?
I say...untie the knots you tie yourself in from the day-to-day stresses in life.
But how? 
I speak from experience.
I have removed my knots in the past by omitting those from within my social circle whom were a negative influence. It was not my intent to be rude, or express myself in a cavalier manner, it's just my life and let me reiterate that who you choose to associate yourself with can have a negative impact on you; hence more usless knots to unravel.
Who is to say that you have to allow yourself to be in a room full of people purging daily troubles on your dreamy mist full day full of billowing clouds?
I was recently at a party and there, I observed a strange occurrence: On one side of the room, people talked about business and politics during the entire length of the party. On the other side, a group of people, who did not speak my language, yet it was apparent, they knew how to have a fun time and let loose. They laughed and sang, clearly having a good time. Unknowingly, I caught myself being envious of the freedom and ability they had of to just simply drop their “knots” for the time being and lose themselves in the joy of friendship and being together. 
Think about it...
What and who we listen to and the influences in our life define us as individuals.
I quote Ally McBeal, Season 5. John Cage and Ally both experience hallucinations often through their workday yet their fellow colleagues believe them to be nuts. We writers experience this same thing. It is a good thing if you want to fill your day with fantasy. By all means, you do what makes you happy, therefore less knots.
These are the words from my nook... My thoughts to consider
James A. McDonnell -