(no subject)
Here we are at the Royal Continental on Via Partenope, right on the Gulf of Naples. It's not too far from a place called Plazza Plebiscito, a name which made me laugh. It's almost like calling a place "Ballot Initiative Plaza." I told Francis that, and received a long lecture about how a plebiscite is not the same as a ballot initiative.
When we heard the awful news about Adam and Sofia, Francis and I booked a second room here, communicating with our own. However, to do this, we had to ask some people who had the room next to us to move elsewhere. Francis doesn't have any problem doing this kind of thing. Normally I would, but it was for Sofia, so instead of standing aside and cringing inwardly, I actually helped him. Granted, I don't speak Neapolitan Italian, but after a while I learned to get the jist of what was being said around me. Here Francis was telling this nice older couple (older than we are, anyway) how his poor bambolina was used and deserted by her diseased testicle of a husband, may he be subject to endless anal intercourse with the business ends of demons' pitchforks, and she was heartbroken and ready to throw herself off the Empire State Building, but if we could get her out of Nuovo York and bring her back to bella Napoli, we could make her see that life was worth living again ... oh, I don't know what else he said, but he laid it on thick. It isn't that the nice older couple believed Francis entirely, but after a while an Italian will let you have your way if your performance is impressive enough. Mind you, the older gent was protesting the entire time, but nobody thought he really was that incommoded. He ended up with a room with a better view, and we get a room for Sofia that communicates with our own. And Francis carried the nice older couple's luggage to their new room and paid their bill. It's a good thing we didn't have any delusions of $10,000-a-night suites! We can't keep up with the Lucases and we don't try. This is good enough.
So, Sofia, we are settled, and we anxiously await your arrival.
Roman, Nicky, anyone else want to join us as we circle the wagons, please do.
I think Sofia will be all right. She is very resilient. But it's good to be sure.
Last night we went to see Steven Spielberg get a knighthood and a Donatello award. We only found out at the last minute and rushed up to Roma, where I had to buy something I really didn't like to wear to the ceremonies. Orange is not my color. The whole thing, I'm told, was in standard Italian; I only know that if I have trouble with Neapolitan, which I hear plenty of from Francis' famiglia, I'm really going to have trouble with standard Italian. Steven had a speech memorized, which he gave; it amused Francis greatly because Steven sounded more Midwestern speaking Italian than he does speaking English.
We plan to return to the U.S. on the 10th of May, and after resting up in Los Angeles we'll attend George's 60th birthday party and his daughter's graduation, both on the 14th. Then we'll go home to Napa.
I just realized that. Napa. Napoli. Hmmm.
When we heard the awful news about Adam and Sofia, Francis and I booked a second room here, communicating with our own. However, to do this, we had to ask some people who had the room next to us to move elsewhere. Francis doesn't have any problem doing this kind of thing. Normally I would, but it was for Sofia, so instead of standing aside and cringing inwardly, I actually helped him. Granted, I don't speak Neapolitan Italian, but after a while I learned to get the jist of what was being said around me. Here Francis was telling this nice older couple (older than we are, anyway) how his poor bambolina was used and deserted by her diseased testicle of a husband, may he be subject to endless anal intercourse with the business ends of demons' pitchforks, and she was heartbroken and ready to throw herself off the Empire State Building, but if we could get her out of Nuovo York and bring her back to bella Napoli, we could make her see that life was worth living again ... oh, I don't know what else he said, but he laid it on thick. It isn't that the nice older couple believed Francis entirely, but after a while an Italian will let you have your way if your performance is impressive enough. Mind you, the older gent was protesting the entire time, but nobody thought he really was that incommoded. He ended up with a room with a better view, and we get a room for Sofia that communicates with our own. And Francis carried the nice older couple's luggage to their new room and paid their bill. It's a good thing we didn't have any delusions of $10,000-a-night suites! We can't keep up with the Lucases and we don't try. This is good enough.
So, Sofia, we are settled, and we anxiously await your arrival.
Roman, Nicky, anyone else want to join us as we circle the wagons, please do.
I think Sofia will be all right. She is very resilient. But it's good to be sure.
Last night we went to see Steven Spielberg get a knighthood and a Donatello award. We only found out at the last minute and rushed up to Roma, where I had to buy something I really didn't like to wear to the ceremonies. Orange is not my color. The whole thing, I'm told, was in standard Italian; I only know that if I have trouble with Neapolitan, which I hear plenty of from Francis' famiglia, I'm really going to have trouble with standard Italian. Steven had a speech memorized, which he gave; it amused Francis greatly because Steven sounded more Midwestern speaking Italian than he does speaking English.
We plan to return to the U.S. on the 10th of May, and after resting up in Los Angeles we'll attend George's 60th birthday party and his daughter's graduation, both on the 14th. Then we'll go home to Napa.
I just realized that. Napa. Napoli. Hmmm.