Aug 15 Part II

I slept until noon. I could have slept longer, but Duke woke me up because the sun is poring over everything and the day is gorgeous and we have to buy supplies for tonight's barbecue before we lay ourselves down on the beach.

Last night we went to San Felice Circeo with DJ Nicky Nick and had appertivos and met-up with his sister Natalia and two of her Australian pals. And quite selfishly, I was glad that they were Australian because Nick and Natalia both speak perfect English in the way that many Europeans do, and I speak nothing but English in the way that many self-centered, ill-educated Americans do. So English speaking Australians were a lovely addition. And I do so admire and love how fluidly everyone is able to switch from language to language (I once got to witness a conversation between Nick and a French friend in which they used Italian, German, French, and English all effortlessly jumbled up in the same several sentences. Wouldn't that be an amazing thing to be able to do? )

There was shoe shopping amongst the females and easily the most stunning girl I have ever seen in real life at dinner. She made the Victoria Secret models look like The Real Housewives of NJ. It was like staring at living art--I couldn't look away. Natalia and Barbara were speaking in Italian and then explained that they had been questioning the same thing I wondered: Why was a girl that looked like that having dinner with a guy who was so drippy? Was he a cousin? A gay friend? But then they started holding hands and we all just had to shake our heads and surmise that he was either in possession of the most amazing personality in the world and/or she had no idea what she looked like.

I also noticed a new bra with which to wear strapless dresses and backless shirts: that would be any old bra. No need to use backless, strapless, taped-up contraptions. You just wear your bra and whatever shirt you want can go on top of it. My female peeps didn't seems to bat an eye at this, so I just had to be bitchy and puritanical to myself. And try to take pictures because I knew my fellow Americans would be as dismayed as I. Because they make racerback and strapless and backless bras. Yes, they do.

I was unfortunately still a zombie from the jet-lag, but we did get to see a Ricky Martin/Enrique Iglesias type singer do the single worst renditions of American songs in the square. Even his bandmates seemed disgusted. The crowd seemed to be laughing heartily, and yet, the show must go on as he wiggled and gyrated his way through Sting's "Fragile", Joan Osbourn's "What if God was One of Us?" and Pink Floyd's "The Wall." I have pictures, so I know that I wasn't just having jet-lagged hallucinations.