Showing posts with label Thumb-Ring. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Thumb-Ring. Show all posts

Monday, December 15, 2008

Fabio Viviani Takes the “Something Blue” Requirement Seriously, Down to the Blue Thumb-Ring
















Though we must confess, possums, that we were a tad disappointed he went with the blue of the sea rather than the blue of the sky. Didn’t anyone tell him just how stereotypically popular the cheesy Italian song “Volare” is at weddings? In fact, are we sure he didn’t sing it to Gail e le ragazze as part of his introduction?


After all, the lyrics are drowning in blue, all about flying in the sky, “nel blu dipinto di blu, felice di stare lassù.” Wouldn’t it have made for better patter? And it would have meant using birds of the air, which would have prevented the problem of using a putatively endangered fish and making it bland.

And while we’re on the subject of Fabio, we have to confess that we’re fascinated and amused by his Florentine accent. In “Two Gallants,” one of James Joyce’s stories in Dubliners, there is a description of the character Corley as “aspirat[ing] the first letter of his name after the manner of Florentines.” To aspirate means to pronounce a letter as if it were an “h,” which, for Joyce’s purpose, meant that Corley pronounced his name “Whorely.” Joycean epiphany and all that, vous voyez? For us, it is fascinating that this characteristic is still part of the Florentine accent a hundred years later. Listen as Fabio says “bahon” instead of “bacon” and “behause” instead of “because.” Whatever else may be true of him, Fabio certainly has aspirations.

Sunday, December 14, 2008

The Heterosexual Woman’s Long National Nightmare Is Over: Sam Talbot Puts a Thumb-Ring On It




























Well, possums, while the heterosexual women of America may have wept blue-cheese-and-watermelon tears, we were relieved to read the news that Colombian arepa Paola Guerrero has finally made an honest man out of Sam “Not That Guy” Talbot.

We remembered the time after the engagement was announced this past summer, when a “hell hath no fury,” bedroom-farce fecal storm erupted in the comments section chez nos potes at Eater, ended up on Page Six, and led a little bird to send us pics of a, um, little Talbot bird (tattoos are such handy identifiers). The whole thing reminded us of this ad for the Chanel men’s fragrance Égoïste, except without the Prokofiev score, and with more naked photos emailed to pun-named blogs.

And so, if this marriage at least means an end to all such tsuris, then we are all for it. Good luck to everyone involved.