De Gregori

My beloved blog readers stand with me in health and illness, war and near-peace. What gift should I give them?

I can think of nothing better than the music of Francesco De Gregori. Sibelings Laura, Marco and Federico fallavolita introduced me to it in Florance over a decade ago. We'd sit in their modest kitchen, eating spaghetti and listening to his song about fat women who venture broken hearted to form their own, self respecting society.

"It's amazing," I told them, "You travel Europe, and people mostly dress the same and act the same, but food is still so georgraphically specific. Here we are in Italy, and every night we eat spaghetti."

"That's not because we're Italians," Laura explained, "it's because we're students. We're poor."

De Gregori was a fave with all students I met in Italy, including two gay students (both guys, but not a couple) who gave me a lift one night near Bologna and took me to their school-town of Pisa. One of them tried his best to seduce me with the sweetness of this other man's singing voice. I played it mean and stayed a few days in the flat with no intention of yielding to the courtship. Women have done this to me since and now I know better.

Granted, De Gregori himself is rather inattractive. I think most gay Pisan men would prefer him as a recorded voice, but at least in this clip of his song "nothing to understand" he is surrounded by beauty. There, if anyone ever needed it, is a testement to the power of generous eye-liner use. Count this fashion tip as another gift.