Saturday, June 10, 2017

Day 29 -- Best Venue Saved For Last? -- The Obvious Advantage being Frank Zappa's Nephew Has Given Me in Music and Life Upon Which I Have Capitalized Mightily





You can't outsmart the Angel of Death, sing coo-coo sing (Death is coming in)

Up at 7, 8, 9, 10 and eventually 11am.  Breakfast? sfogliatelle, pistachio cannoli and pizza.  That's what you call a King's Life!

A visit to a record store was involved before getting on the bus.  There on the wall was a Wipers patch and a Dead Moon patch available for 4 Euro each, which I believe is like $29 CDN.  Regardless of the price, it's odd to see PNW (Pacific North West) rock (Americanino) memorabilia for sale in an Italian record store.  I don't know why that gave me moment for pause any more than a Charles Mingus or Mark Lanegan record. Probably because the patch was made in China, or Sri Lanka.  So many layers of global exploitation!  Dizzying!

But the lasting question was "Don't they know it's all Americanino boolshit?  If so, why are they peddling it to their fellow citizens?  If not, how long before David tells them?

Mercifully we made it out of Rome without being maced, robbed and shanked by gypsies.  While the Italian people may totally impotent in the face of the gypsie menace, no one is so impotent they can't drag a broom across their tiny bit of sidewalk.  Is there a plastic bag in the tree outside your door?  Not only can you take it down (it's easy!) you can also use that plastic bag to collect the cigarette butts, dog (?) faeces, and soiled garments that litter your personal part of the street, from the police department all the way to Radiation Records and back again.  A broom!  So simple!  Design geniuses of Italy--put your mighty thought-form toward making sweeping the litter and detritus from your sidewalk sexy and fun!  PLEASE.  Rome will never regain its past glory unless this first, simple step is taken!

Murderous gypsies and filth strewn streets aside, Rome did have its charm.  Like 24 hour a day sfogliatelle, just a mere 3 death-and-menace filled blocks from the venue.

Perugia has a certain civilized vibe that Rome does not.  Bar Chupito...perfect?  I couldn't find fault--not that I go through life looking for venue faults, but after a while, you do develop a preference.  The venue had posters--thoughtful, well done posters--from past and future performances proudly displayed.  They did their share of publicity:

Facebook

the local news something something

another local news something something

and here's a bit of video I hope you can see

The bar was small, yet...and there's no other word to use...perfect.  The stage was downstairs from the bar--but you didn't have to schlepp your gear down the stairs, as there was a driveway leading down to the back of the stage for your loading in and out convenience.

The size of the performance space wasn't particularly large, but was just right, at least it was for our needs.

We were fed like champions, with flawless vegetarian fare.  Espresso flowed freely.  For those able to experience the feeling of comfort and belonging, Bar Chupito is your place.  Even if you are immune to such feelings, Bar Chupito is also your place, even on a Monday night!  Perugia turned out!  When was the last time you went to see a show on a Monday night, and the venue was packed with people grooving, drinking, eating and having a good time?  When was the last time you did that on any night of the week?

My notes don't indicate any severe punishment or praise regarding my accuracy vis a vis pot-pissing.  My notes and my visits to their facebook page do indicate that Bar Chupito's chosen image is that of a child pissing (accurately) into the pot


What is etched in my mind was one (of many) interaction I had with a gentleman who, if Italians could get drunk, was definitely drunk.  However Italians (especially Italian men) don't get drunk, and lord knows they never get hung over.  So this man, though he had most certainly been drinking, was not drunk.

He was comfortable enough to approach me and let me know that Frank Zappa owed him 30 Euro.

"If that's all he owes you, then you got off easy"

Not Drunk gentleman then says something to me in Italian.  David kindly translates and tells me "he just challenged you to a fight"


"no no, no fight, let me pick up the tab for Frank Zappa, let me get you that 30 Euro..."

As I reach for my wallet, Not Drunk gentleman stops me, looks me in the eyes as best he can, with as much purpose as he could muster and says


"Frank Zappa"

"yes, Frank Zappa"

"Frank Zappa saved Mel Gibson"


"he did what?"

"Frank Zappa"


"Yes, Frank Zappa...he saved who now?"

"Frank Zappa saved Mel Gibson"


"How?  When?"

"In a helicopter"


"Mel Gibson was in a Helicopter and Frank Zappa saved him?"

(this pissed him off)


"NO.  Frank Zappa was flying the helicopter and he saved Mel Gibson"

"I dunno dude...I'm not sure Frank Zappa could operate a car, let alone a helicopter...helicopters are really hard to op..."

"MAD MAX"


"Mad Max?"

"Frank Zappa saved Mad Max in a helicopter.  Mel Gibson is Mad Max."

"So what you're saying is that Frank Zappa was in the movie _Mad Max_ and in that movie, Frank Zappa's Character saved Mad Max, the character played by Mel Gibson"

"YES.  FRANK ZAPPA SAVED MEL GIBSON IN MAD MAX"

Because I hate to hurt peoples feelings, I tried the best I could to softly suggest the potential for untruth in what he was saying.  Meanwhile, by now, a few people were working their cell phones trying to get to the bottom of things.

As it  turned out, William Zappa was in the _Road Warrior_.  He may or may not have saved Mel Gibson in a helicopter.  It's been a while since I've seen the movie.

This did not convince Not Drunk gentleman, who grabbed his cell phone and began looking.  As the operation of a cell phone proved too difficult, he passed his phone to his lady friend instructing her to get to the bottom of things. She obliged and while scrolling about, turned to me and said "I feel sorry for you."

After this, Not Drunk gentleman delivered a monologue in Italian.  According to David he said that I was a "a skinny southern guy, just out of rehab, pretending to speak English just to get a meal."

Which isn't totally false, and, also, could have been nothing something Drunk gentleman said, but instead, something entirely fabricated by David.  Those sentiments were quite similar to the ones David had shared repeatedly over the last 29 days.

The evening ended with no final conclusion regarding why Frank Zappa owed Not Drunk Gentleman 30 Euro nor Frank Zappa's role in Mel Gibson's safety, on or off the screen.  If you have any answers, feel free to put them in the comments part of the Blog.

After the antics, (In Peruguia, they sure do serve grappa in tall glasses to the ladies) we were driven to where we were staying.  To get there we went through a warren of tiny streets and pre-Christian buildings to our place for the evening.  Those pre-Christians knew a thing or two about building comfortable dwellings even if they couldn't think 2000 years into the our beautiful car filled future.  Then again, I could have been offered a mostly clean floor and I would not have minded at all.  I mean, I didn't mind in Rome, and I didn't mind in Berlin, and I had a great night at Bar Chupito, so....

In bed at 2:30am

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