My uncle called today and as best I can understand he has retreated to his country place to prepare to watch the World Cup match tomorrow*. By retreated, of course, I mean dragged 40 close friends up to his vineyard house and wired a big screen television up outdoors. I’d really like to see a picture of 40 screaming Italians barbequeing, with a big screen television nestled in between some grape trellises. In my slightly skewed vision of my mother’s homeland that is the direct analogy of an American backyard football party.
* Calling at any hour of the day or night with no apparent regard to any timezone, American, Italian or otherwise and shouting something unintelligible or singing part of the Italian National Anthem (badly) has become his hallmark.
I seriously suspect that insanity, at least the quirky amusing kind, runs deeply in my family. It is some comfort knowing I never genetically had a chance.