Viva Las Vegas, Part II: Parla italiano!

Fountains show at Bellagio, Las Vegas
Fountains show at Bellagio, Las Vegas (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

After some days of hearing languages from around the world spoken at The Bellagio, I decided to speak only Italian.   This drove my daughter somewhat mad, but I explained to her that “Questa `e un’opportunita a parlare la lingua!”

She failed to see it my way.  She simply thought I was being “weird and annoying”.  However, my use of Italian in the Bellagio Art Museum only enhanced the artistic experience, at least from my perspective.

“Mama, people think I’m a mute because you are doing all the talking,” she complained.

“Parla italiano, cara mia.  La lingua `e bellissima!” I replied.

She likened my exclusive use of Italian to the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party.   She was making literary allusions, I observed.

While dining at Circo’s that night at The Bellagio, we were treated to a window seat by The Fountains.  In the midst of describing my delight at the wonders of the “cena deliziosa” at Circo’s, she snapped.

“Mama, I’m begging you:  Speak English.  I can’t keep up with the Italian.  You know I haven’t spoken it for months.  Per favore?”

“Va bene, cara mia.  Parliamo inglesi stasera.”

“Mama, hai parlato italiano ancora.”

I smiled.  “Certo!  E tu hai parlato italiano adesso.  Ecco il tiramisu!

“Mangia!” said Anjelica as she picked up her spoon and dove into the tiramisu.

My strategy had worked:  She was speaking Italian again.  Outstanding Italian food has that effect on our linguistic abilities.  To further sweeten the language deal, we went to see the new Woody Allen movie, To Rome With Love.  Che bella in its use of subtitles.

Ciao for now.

Italian Language Workshop
Italian Language Workshop (Photo credit: Context Travel)

Addicted to Woody

The bridge shot
The bridge shot (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I unabashedly admit to being a Woody Allen disciple. Early on, I sought out his movies.  Then in 1977, my ardor swelled with Annie Hall.  After dragging friends to behold the magic of Diane Keaton and Woody Allen, my mission was to convert my entourage to the distilled essence of this perfect film.  In 1979 along came Manhattan, and I swooned for Woody all over again.  We college students agreed that Manhattan could only have been filmed in black and white with George Gershwin’s surging music a powerful underpinning to the storyline.

Match Point jarred me; it was such a darker sort of Woody film.  Yet it was not when I remembered Hannah and Her Sisters and Stardust Memories.  I prefer not to reveal the number of times I have viewed Vicky Christina Barcelona; suffice to say I worship at Woody’s altar.

In 2011, I was front and center to take in Woody’s latest flick, Midnight in Paris.  The Cole Porter songs wafting throughout the movie mesmerized me.  I remain enraptured of Midnight in Paris and the luminaries of the Lost Generation it evokes.

To Rome With Love opens in New York and Los Angeles today, with me sitting in The Heartland, eating pasta with pesto and fagioli for lunch, but alas, one needs sustenance even when dreaming of Rome. My spirit is channeling you happily in Rome, Woody, even though I believe you are already writing your next film, perhaps set in Venice.

Ciao for now.