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David Cerruti's Reviews > What Pooh Might Have Said to Dante and Other Futile Speculations
What Pooh Might Have Said to Dante and Other Futile Speculations
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A review of a book of book reviews sounds like something recommended by the Department of Redundancy Department. Nevertheless, this little jewel is well worth your time.
In the midway of this our mortal life,
I found me in a gloomy wood, astray.
Ok, it wasn’t quite like that. A few years ago, I faced an unplanned layover in a strange city. I had 24 hours, but no map, no friends, and I didn’t speak the language. The bus ride to the old part of the city was pleasant enough, but I worried too much. Where would I sleep? Would I get ripped off? Would it rain?
I shouldn’t have worried. All sorts of people helped me find my way, gave me advice, and spoke at least some English. There were a few pushy types wearing big name tags that said Buy My Book, but I quickly learned to avoid eye contact.
An old man in front of a flower stand invited me to examine the flowers.
“No thank you. I don’t want any flowers.”
“I’m not selling flowers. I just watched you walk past three flower shops without even looking. Look now.”
“Oh, yes. They are lovely.”
“You are not really looking. Get close, look inside, and smell them.”
“Wow. Thank you. I’ll remember that.”
Later, when I stopped to look at a large old building, a woman asked “What do you think of it?”
“It’s big. And old.”
“Look at the door.”
“That’s big, too.”
“You don’t get it, do you? The door is carved wood. The walls are carved stone. There were no motors when this was built. Hundreds of people built this by hand.”
I started to apologize, but she interrupted. “Follow me. I’m going to the metro. Just keep your eyes open.”
I was learning. At a café I asked the waiter to bring me something he thought I would like. Later, a worker stopped me from turning onto another street.
“No, no. Don’t go there. You won’t like it.”
“Why not?”
“That’s the way the drunk students go home at night. We call it Rue Vomitorium.”
“Maybe I should buy a guidebook.”
“What? Are you crazy? Guidebooks are for amateur tourists. Just ask a resident for directions.”
So, good readers, you don’t need 1000 Books to Change Your Life. Just find a few of the best reviewers, and follow. You know the usual suspects. There are plenty between Nottingham and notgettingenough.
That’s enough preaching to the choir. If you are reading this, you’ve already had a taste of Manny’s reviews.
In the midway of this our mortal life,
I found me in a gloomy wood, astray.
Ok, it wasn’t quite like that. A few years ago, I faced an unplanned layover in a strange city. I had 24 hours, but no map, no friends, and I didn’t speak the language. The bus ride to the old part of the city was pleasant enough, but I worried too much. Where would I sleep? Would I get ripped off? Would it rain?
I shouldn’t have worried. All sorts of people helped me find my way, gave me advice, and spoke at least some English. There were a few pushy types wearing big name tags that said Buy My Book, but I quickly learned to avoid eye contact.
An old man in front of a flower stand invited me to examine the flowers.
“No thank you. I don’t want any flowers.”
“I’m not selling flowers. I just watched you walk past three flower shops without even looking. Look now.”
“Oh, yes. They are lovely.”
“You are not really looking. Get close, look inside, and smell them.”
“Wow. Thank you. I’ll remember that.”
Later, when I stopped to look at a large old building, a woman asked “What do you think of it?”
“It’s big. And old.”
“Look at the door.”
“That’s big, too.”
“You don’t get it, do you? The door is carved wood. The walls are carved stone. There were no motors when this was built. Hundreds of people built this by hand.”
I started to apologize, but she interrupted. “Follow me. I’m going to the metro. Just keep your eyes open.”
I was learning. At a café I asked the waiter to bring me something he thought I would like. Later, a worker stopped me from turning onto another street.
“No, no. Don’t go there. You won’t like it.”
“Why not?”
“That’s the way the drunk students go home at night. We call it Rue Vomitorium.”
“Maybe I should buy a guidebook.”
“What? Are you crazy? Guidebooks are for amateur tourists. Just ask a resident for directions.”
So, good readers, you don’t need 1000 Books to Change Your Life. Just find a few of the best reviewers, and follow. You know the usual suspects. There are plenty between Nottingham and notgettingenough.
That’s enough preaching to the choir. If you are reading this, you’ve already had a taste of Manny’s reviews.
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Reading Progress
April 11, 2012
–
Started Reading
April 11, 2012
– Shelved
April 27, 2012
–
Finished Reading
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Manny
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rated it 3 stars
Apr 27, 2012 08:09AM
Hey, thank you David!
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You might be thinking “What’s this nonsense about Rue Vomitorium?”That Parisian street really exists under a different name. Most of the street is quite nice, but one very long unwelcoming block runs behind La Sorbonne. There are no shops here, and thus, no shopkeepers to wash away the obnoxious substances each morning.
My wife and I walked it by chance in 2010. From our hotel in the Latin Quarter, we would walk toward the Jardin du Luxembourg to breakfast at a café.
Cluny, and the remains of the Roman baths are nearby. The hot, warm, and cold rooms were called calderium, tepidarium, and frigidarium. I thought those names were hilarious. So when we were in the middle of the long block, in the morning sun, surrounded by steamy vapors, I christened it Rue Vomitorium.
I didn’t coin this word. An excerpt from Wikipedia:
A vomitorium is a passage situated below or behind a tier of seats in an amphitheatre or a stadium, through which big crowds can exit rapidly at the end of a performance. The Latin word vomitorium derives from the verb vomitum, "to spew forth." In ancient Roman architecture, vomitoria were designed to provide rapid egress for large crowds at amphitheatres and stadiums, as they do in modern sports stadiums and large theatres.
I’ve also been in a real vomitorium, and it didn’t smell bad.
A view from the vomitorium, in a Roman amphitheater in Beit She’an National Park, Israel, Oct. 2012.
