Sound the trumpets, members! September 2nd, 2007 is the 106th anniversary of Freud’s victory of neuroses, when he finally went to Rome! If you’re a strict Freudian, such a triumph symbolizes his success in vanquishing an over-identification with the tenacious outsider and uber father-male, Hannibal, to allow a satisfying connection with the mega urban-female mamma, Roma. But more than a dance in the USO hall of family romance, getting his ass to Rome meant Freud fulfilled the same conquest as the 45,000 Elvisites who made the annual pilgrimage to Graceland for The King’s anniversary death week: he took his longing across the bridge from the was and elswhereto the is and here, he sublimated the obsessive fantasy lived out only in dreams and interpretation into a creative pressing of the flesh in a field of gravity, impersonators and all. And this week, that’s exactly your choice: Put the rubber to the road (any road, they all lead to Rome) and enjoy some refreshing nomadic molting or stick to the safety of your guns and affirm Philip K. Dick’s worst fears that the Empire never ended.