Our Man in Piacenza, Take 1: WITCHATA LINESMAN
(Lights? Camera? Action!)
Sooooo?.....Atemis Blogovich-Smith, having trailed/stalked me to Piacenza, (Italy) makes (lol) the ONE fatal mistake and falls in love withe the "bello" Lenore; live, vivacious, a good cook (Italian: go figure) with a keen sense of fashion AND speaks bearable Esperanto (English).
Wedding bans are posted at the local "Super-Mercato" (King-Soopers) and at the Pakistani owned inter-net cafe - from where I write - ; beer mat/decal invitations are bandied about/customary for all bohemian affairs, a salute/nod/punt/ to "some semblance of Social merit" doobie-doo.....And, for the life of me?...I feel obligated to "show up" and lend some sober sense of Community spirit!.....(?)
Weddings...in Italia....are at once a solemn, yet festive affair. Ya gotta wear a (black) jacket and white - hopefully pressed - shirt.
....No one gives a crap about "pantaloons". They could be "Daktari" ZEBRA and no-one would give a shit
Still. Its a lengthy gig. All that "Candles" rigamarolle, chanting, an eternity of "Ave Marias"....and I would love to joke about it but its sooo repetitive, I swear; its JUST NOT FUNNY!
Then some ol gal....actually, some old skinny virgin who never TOOK the habit starts playing the frickin Cello (not half bad) and the HOLY DUDE in a lacey combo frock, worthy of Ives St Laurants worst nightmare, dispensing the (R.C.) obligaqtory ritual, amidst which, Artemis, and his bride to be, all decked out in Nike Splendour, flood-lit-centre stage:
"Artemis?" sayeth the frock-dude;
"Artemis? (You piece of shit) DO U take bella Lenore as your beloved wife?"
"Johnny Depp!"
"Que!?"
"You bet! Shes rich!"
"Que?"
"Absolutely, man!.... C, mon! Lets get on with it!"
At which point some old fat gal up on high in the basilica gallery, accompanied by some aneamic gerontion with blood shot eyes and leprosy for a complexion ignites the ancient thunderous pipe organ, dispensing with "WE ARE DEVO" but goes straight to "Ave Maria" (like we have NOT been brain-washed enough (?).....!
Leastways? -Im told so, because at SOME point I,d lost interest in the whole affair and gone wandered out of the basilica across the street to a tavern....and HERE U must remember that wedding rituals fall dead centre between (bloody Mary) morning cocktails and (Dry Martini) Happy hours!......ahem....which is not only downright inconvenient but enough to piss off the Pope!......I think.
Artemis Blagovich-Smith?
Well; he got married.
Me?
I nodded to Jesus.....
....and like the Witchata Linesman?
I,m still on the Line.
c 2011/Our man in Piacenza/davedelaccroix/Hotel Dave, via Campagna 89, Piacenza, Italy/ wish U were here!...:)
(Lights? Camera? Action!)
Sooooo?.....Atemis Blogovich-Smith, having trailed/stalked me to Piacenza, (Italy) makes (lol) the ONE fatal mistake and falls in love withe the "bello" Lenore; live, vivacious, a good cook (Italian: go figure) with a keen sense of fashion AND speaks bearable Esperanto (English).
Wedding bans are posted at the local "Super-Mercato" (King-Soopers) and at the Pakistani owned inter-net cafe - from where I write - ; beer mat/decal invitations are bandied about/customary for all bohemian affairs, a salute/nod/punt/ to "some semblance of Social merit" doobie-doo.....And, for the life of me?...I feel obligated to "show up" and lend some sober sense of Community spirit!.....(?)
Weddings...in Italia....are at once a solemn, yet festive affair. Ya gotta wear a (black) jacket and white - hopefully pressed - shirt.
....No one gives a crap about "pantaloons". They could be "Daktari" ZEBRA and no-one would give a shit
Still. Its a lengthy gig. All that "Candles" rigamarolle, chanting, an eternity of "Ave Marias"....and I would love to joke about it but its sooo repetitive, I swear; its JUST NOT FUNNY!
Then some ol gal....actually, some old skinny virgin who never TOOK the habit starts playing the frickin Cello (not half bad) and the HOLY DUDE in a lacey combo frock, worthy of Ives St Laurants worst nightmare, dispensing the (R.C.) obligaqtory ritual, amidst which, Artemis, and his bride to be, all decked out in Nike Splendour, flood-lit-centre stage:
"Artemis?" sayeth the frock-dude;
"Artemis? (You piece of shit) DO U take bella Lenore as your beloved wife?"
"Johnny Depp!"
"Que!?"
"You bet! Shes rich!"
"Que?"
"Absolutely, man!.... C, mon! Lets get on with it!"
At which point some old fat gal up on high in the basilica gallery, accompanied by some aneamic gerontion with blood shot eyes and leprosy for a complexion ignites the ancient thunderous pipe organ, dispensing with "WE ARE DEVO" but goes straight to "Ave Maria" (like we have NOT been brain-washed enough (?).....!
Leastways? -Im told so, because at SOME point I,d lost interest in the whole affair and gone wandered out of the basilica across the street to a tavern....and HERE U must remember that wedding rituals fall dead centre between (bloody Mary) morning cocktails and (Dry Martini) Happy hours!......ahem....which is not only downright inconvenient but enough to piss off the Pope!......I think.
Artemis Blagovich-Smith?
Well; he got married.
Me?
I nodded to Jesus.....
....and like the Witchata Linesman?
I,m still on the Line.
c 2011/Our man in Piacenza/davedelaccroix/Hotel Dave, via Campagna 89, Piacenza, Italy/ wish U were here!...:)
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