May 8, 1998 We spent the first part of the day at the wedding caterer's. Gena was about to rip out Angelo's mother's eyeballs. Angelo and the chef were sending each other brain wave messages: "These women are crazy bitches. Who cares what kind of lettuce is in the salad?" Gena looked miserable and Angelo looked constipated. I swear to God if I ever get married, I am not going through all of this shit. Ridiculous! On the way home, Gena looked at Angelo talking on his cell phone and said, "He's so cool," which reminded me of the song in True Romance, and that's what truly what they have. I love when she tries to converse in Italian and he laughs and corrects her grammar and jokes about her "breaking his balls." They are a perfect match -- he's silly like she is, and he has the patience to accept her fully, whims and conniption fits and all. We went to a monastery called Certoza. It creeped me out, seeing the tombs and the hermits' cells. The view was gorgeous. Gena translated the priest/tour guide, and Angelo kept blaspheming and grabbing her boobs. While we walked around on the grounds, he explained sleep cycles, dreams, why vaginas excrete mucus, and why shit is full of bacteria. Ah, science lessons from Angelo. Just another tasty treat from the gang at Empire Records! After Gena and Angelo screamed at each other for a little while, we all went to the bar where he works and drank superstrong beer, got in a few fights, and woke up hungover and nauseous. Eva and I went back to bed for four hours. I think we're still jet-lagging. We're going to a villa this afternoon. Angelo is watching The Lion King and cracking up at Timon and Pumba. Luckily, there is an endless supply of wine (my favorite drink) and gelatto (my favorite food) so I am not forced to eat crazy meat concoctions here. There are too many black-wearing anorexics in Italy, but that's my only real complaint. more florence © 1999 ~ 2003 eb