Last night Augusto called me and asked me if I wanted a tomato. Which turned out to be the most delicious tomato in the universe. A baked tomato, stuffed with gorgonzola, bacon, breadcrumbs and some other delicious stuff, and drizzled with white truffle oil. Bravo.

In Umbria, a provance northwest of Rome, there is going to be a chocolate festival and a mushroom festival. Supposedly Umbria is an amazing place. I wonder if Burnt Umber comes from there. Or Raw Umber, for that matter. Any sort of Umber.

On Friday night a group of us went to an outdoor club where they played new disco. As if old disco weren't bad enough, the Italians somehow didn't realize that it's horrible, horrible music and continued to play it, then some intreped yet misguided DJs decided to add lame electro to the mix in the 80s...and apparently to the Italians the 80s was the greatest decade in music.

Our art teacher is an Englishman named Paul Harbutt who is currently married to his third wife. He told us to go collect garbage today but it rained for the first time and I suspect the flea market closed down early.

Yesterday we went on an extremely long bus/walking tour around Rome and saw a lot of everything, superficially. We went to the catacombs of someoneorother but didn't go in. We did go into a cave where Nazis killed 318 people and proceeded to explode the place. The Nazis did the exploding, not us.

The tour was led by Jeffrey Blanchard, a very dapper member of the faculty here. He has a voice like Mr. Rogers and hair like Hitler, only blonder and slicked back at the front (it doesn't do the Nazi swoop across the forehead). I didn't want to spend The E 6 for the shit sandwich they were offering at the Catacombe...and Jeffrey offered me a large part of his delicious white pizza with proscuitto. No matter what, I luck out...it's totally unfair. If I don't make any arrangements for dinner, somehow something magically delicious appears for me. I think that everyone wants to feed me b/c I look anorexic.