powered by SignMyGuestbook.com
powered by SignMyGuestbook.com
Recent News... Just for Pope Gregory... |
2005-07-26 - 10:01 p.m. Day 5: The last roundup The final day of our meeting finishes with a fascinating tour of the optics floors, assembly rooms, test equipment, and [mumble, mumble, geek talk] till it�s time to wipe the canoli off the keyboard, thank the lovely people and leave. The flock scatters through our final errands in Florence � the Boy even leaps off the bus on a mad run to the Uffuzi - with the agreement that interested parties can rendezvous in the corner of Santa Croce around 8ish. Santa Croce. Did you know Galileo is buried here? I say. Hmmm, they say politely. Also, Machivelli. Wow! say all the boys-who-never-grew-up. Boys. I�ll back up a minute and tell you about the fine, fine lady named Carolina [Kar-oo-leen-ah] a gorgeous, gracious, clever Italian that ran our hotel. We spent the entire trip trying to get TK to bring her flowers, single Catholic Italian boy that he is. While our matchmaking efforts went unrewarded, TK did get kind Carolina to set us up for dinner. She wrote a long note in Italian and instructed us to take it to Leo. I guess the note said good things, because Leo squeezed the eight lost Americans into two corner tables. Leo: [Read with Italian accent]So, what do you think, eh? A little pasta, a little sauce. Uh. Sounds good, we say, slightly frightened by the exuberant host. Leo puts his hands on the Boy�s shoulder and begins shaking him as he speaks. I tell you what, tonight you drink my wine; I make it at my villa, and you eat my pasta, and you are family. Now, what do you want to start with? The Boy looks up at Leo wide-eyed. I tell you what; you�ll have my salad. Is Leo�s salad. I invented it. You�ll have my salad and, if you don�t like � I say this friendly like � you can send it back and have whatever you fuckin� want. The Boy, who looks afraid he�s going to get bruised, says I will like the salad. We drink; we eat the perfect salad; Leo brings us just a little fettucine with pesto and some in tagaloni sauce. I�m hungry just remembering it. For dessert, they offer us menus, but we decide to bow to the inevitable and order Leo�s cake. Our Office Linebacker, sensing food, arrives at the same time as dessert. He is strong with the force of food radar to find us somewhere in Florence, in a restaurant tucked down a little side street, crowded around a back table. � � � 
|