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First things first. I would like to thank my good friend Mitch who has been kind enough to allot me some space on his website, but more importantly, donate his time to upload my random raves and rants while I'm living in here in Italy. I'd create my own website, however I lack the ambition to undertake such a task, plus computer programming of any kind may be the most loathsome, vile, distasteful chore I've ever had the displeasure to do. So this is to Mitch - Thanks, buddy, you complete me.

Anything in this world worthwhile tends not to happen overnight. My transfer from Testori Americas in Summerside, PEI to Comp Tech Europe has been less than smooth, but I have been patient and have finally arrived in Italy. It has been four weeks since I've stepped out of the Fiumicino airport in Rome and I can say the wait was well worth it.

I am living and working in Latina, a city of 108,000 situated about a 45-minute train ride south of Rome, on the edge of the Tyrrhenian Sea. There is said to be two distinct Italies: the rich industrial north and the poorer agricultural south, also known as Il Mezzogiorno or Land of the Midday Sun. Latina has existed here in the middle of the frontier separating these two social distinctions since the 1920's. Mussolini had the malaria-ridden Pontine marshes that dominated the landscape drained in order to build a city in his image. As one would imagine, the architecture of a city designed by a fascist dictator is, let's say... austere.

It was three days after my arrival in Rome on Friday before I was able to make it to Latina and settle into my apartment. Scott, whom I worked with in Prince Edward Island, met me at the airport to inform me that he had left the keys to my apartment at work and that I wouldn't be able to get them until Monday. The only reasonable thing left to do was catch a high-speed train to Florence.

The center of the cultural and artistic reawakening of the 15^th century, Florence is drenched in historical ambience. I spent the day meandering from one piazza to the next through what seemed like a random network of narrow cobblestone streets and alleys. I managed to check out the Duomo, Michelangelo's David and a myriad of cafes.

I'm a big people watcher. I've spent countless hours outside of Coffee & Company, basking in the sun and just watching the people pass by who might actually have things to do. I've come to the realization that North American coffee can be likened to a Pontiac Sunfire, that's to say, it's all show and no go. Espresso is akin to a stripped down, no nonsense Ferrari. The Italians have removed all the non-essentials and left me with exactly what I need. I love it. I need it. Some preach that marijuana is a gateway drug (everyone knows that the only thing marijuana leads to is carpentry), but espresso, espresso, my friends is a far more addictive substance.

The next day, I found myself standing in the middle of Piazza San Pietro - the cradle of modern monasticism - staring up at the Basilica of St. Peter's and the entrance to the Vatican City. I know using the words "modern" and "monasticism" in the same breath may be ludicrous to some and I would wholeheartedly agree with them. The Catholic church has been accused of attempting to subjugate all science and free thought for a thousand years. I wandered through the Basilica and couldn't help to be to be torn between two trains of thought (tracks of thought? Whatever). As an engineer I couldn't help but marvel at the startling architecture, art and sheer ambition of this immense cage for God. Conversely, I wondered if this was the path of worship that Jesus had envisioned when he died for Christian sins. It's been awhile since Sunday school, but I thought Jesus was a fisherman and his father, but a humble carpenter. St. Peter's Basilica seems a little rich for their blood.

Which brings me to another point. It's been my experience that portrayals of Jesus being crucified have depicted Jesus as being a fairly handsome, physically fit man, complete with flowing locks of beautiful brown hair. Some may argue that he was in shape because he fished all day and was on the Atkins diet, or whatever, but my theory is that nobody wants to worship a fat slob. For all we know, in between miracles, Jesus could have been sitting on the couch, watching football, scratching himself, and if no one was around, maybe giving in to some vice. Someone said that the only difference between suicide and martyrdom is press coverage. The same as if a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, you realize, if no one had been there to witness the agony of Christ, would Christians have been saved?

The Vatican Archives are rumored to hold such treasures as Da Vinci's secret diaries and unpublished books of the Bible. Unpublished books of the Bible? What could these unpublished books contain? I could give you my opinion, but I bet you could guess what it is already. On that note, this update is over.