Ever wonder if you were adopted and never told? Sometimes I think I can't be Italian-American. After all, I don't drink coffee or
vino. I prefer Coke or Pepsi, each of which at least end in a vowel. I don't like eggplant. I have no compelling desire to visit Sicily or any other part of Italy. I would never vote for someone simply because he/she is a
goombah. I can't sit through more a few minutes of
Saturday Night Fever (1977). I don't like the Rocky movies. On the plus side, I love pizza, pasta,
formaggio, and the
Godfather trilogy, which a handful of Italian-Americans find insulting. Since I now hear the language so infrequently, I enjoy hearing it spoken, even - especially - the bastardized version employed in the five boroughs of NYC, and I miss the absence of it on 86th Street. I love the phrases that make their way into literature. I guess I'm a tweener, although I'm sure all my relatives born in the old country would dub me '
Merigahn. And I'm fine with that. I love America, just as Buonosera the undertaker professes in the opening line of
The Godfather (1972). Actually, he says: "I believe in America..." Me too, despite the elitists, especially the Italian-Americans among them. Here are heroic Italian-Americans: Christopher Columbus; Sgt. John Basilone - USMC, Medal of Honor recipient of World War II; Corporal Anthony Casamento - USMC, Medal of Honor recipient of World War II; Col. Luigi Palma di Cesnola - Civil War Union Cavalry officer and Medal of Honor recipient; Joseph D. Pistone - FBI agent who went undercover as Donnie Brasco and infiltrated the Bonanno crime family; all Italian-American soldiers and police officers killed or wounded in the line of duty; all the doctors, scientists and inventors who have made life better; all those in the arts, who are not heroes but whose works have enriched our lives - even the jerks among them. Even if I was adopted, I'm proud to be an Italian-American. Minutes ago I heard a radio report about a 40th anniversary celebration of John Travolta's breakout film. Even though I don't like it, I realize and accept that it's iconic and means a lot to people. Here's a pic someone snapped a little while ago:
From
Yahoo's Odd News, edited by yours truly: An 18th century Chinese vase found in a shoebox in an attic sold for 16.2 million euros ($19 million) at auction in Paris, the highest price ever for single item at Sotheby's in France. Anyone who watches
Antiques Roadshow knows that wares made in China have skyrocketed in value and are in great demand since the economy of that huge country began to boom. The buyer was Asian but the firm did not reveal the name or nationality. Here's a pic:
It was a second straight day of ideal, invigorating weather. My thanks to the young man who purchased the sci-fi short story collection
Viewpoints Critical by L.E. Modesitt Jr., and to Jimmy, who bought 12 works of non-fiction, including huge tomes on etiquette and a beautiful pictorial on Italian shrines; and to Al the Mensch, who selected a Barry Goldwater autobio. Who else would buy such a book? Al's 71st birthday is tomorrow. Struggling with several health issues, he believes God has so far granted him at least a one-year reprieve. Enjoy your day, sir. Special thanks to Gene, who asked for a short story collection and was convinced immediately to buy
A Hitch in Twilight.
My Amazon Author page: https://www.amazon.com/Vic-Fortezza/e/B002M4NLJE
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