Going Out In Italian

Leondardo da Vinci himself was famous for leaving his works unfinished and, well, I'm going to follow suit. I'm going to tell you, instead, about the "going out" culture here in Firenze since many of you have been wondering. Last week I went out on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday night. Excessive? Perhaps. Give me a chance to explain myself.
Tuesday: The Inauguration and The Beatles cover band (as you know already). There was no chance I was going to pass that up.
Wednesday: Again, as you know, what started out as one drink, quickly turned into a night of hanging out with new friends and strolling around the city.
Thursday: Beth and I went to an Art Opening at Palazzo Strozzi at the request of our Photography professor and met one of his friends, Luca. After seeing many odd installations, DVDs, sculptures and the like, we accepted his invitation to go for a drink. He told us that it was his friend's birthday party but that they should be finished by the time we got there. Wrong. There were about 50, extremely happy Italians sitting down when walked through the door. The rest of the night went something like this - drinks at the restaurant with the birthday girl, bestowing italian nicknames (I'm the "genio ribelle" or, rebellious genius), then off to a very European club called Doris. We returned home around 4 am.
Friday: Sleep.
Saturday: Went out with Vassi (our professor who is around 30) and Luca again. First to a bar, then to a club called Crisco. Beth and I were wondering why we weren't getting in while we watched 5 men walk up and immediately pass through the door. Vassi then informed us it was a gay club. When we finally walked in I saw that all the bartenders were men and had wigs on, and it all began to make sense. Again, the rest of the night can be described like this: a bathroom I would rather not remember, strange looks from men, funny conversations with the fake-blonde bartenders, etc.
What is the point of all this? The point is, each night is different. Each night begins with uncertainty. Refer back to an earlier post where I said something like being caught up in the current, and just riding the wave. Florence is a city, not a large one by some standards, but a city nonetheless. Any night can begin with humble origins, then end with a secret bakery, a gay club, a quest for McDonald's fries, or new and interesting friends. Tonight Bethie and I are going to see The Beatles cover band - tomorrow I could be blogging about going out with the band afterwards to a club with The Who, Elvis Costello, and Led Zepplin. Who knows.