Leo 7° (July 29)


I expect the dynamic will change today as we have “the boys” arriving. I also suspect that we will be a little bit more anonymous as a result but who knows. I awoke very early this morning and have already gotten a good deal done. I am going to do my usual ablutions then go downstairs and have a little brekkie and then come back up and edit the first of the HA books and focus on promoting one of our artists this year. At breakfast we discover that the boat that is lilting in the harbor next to us belongs to Sheldon Adelstein. I will take photos of it and post on its horribleness, maybe. Around noonish everyone did assemble on the lower deck in anticipation of J.T. and D’s arrival. Though not the full crew action just we lot, for the most part. I was really happy to re-meet them; I don’t think they remember us even though we have shared a table together at, at least one, event. I do not recall writing a sentence that included at, at; first time for everything. They were indeed affable and we pulled out of the harbor away from that evil Mr. Burns’ yacht which is ugly as sin by the way; and we headed upstairs for lunch which was so delicious. Homemade bagels and a sort of chivey cream sauce, smoked fresh salmon, if you can imagine just putting some newly caught salmon in a smoker, duck carpaccio, salad and strawberry ice cream for dessert. And more rosé than usual—an Aperol spritz for some. S. guessed D.’s sign but mainly we kept ourselves under wraps; I did anyway as it takes me a little bit (not of lot) of time to warm. The plan was then to go into Procida, which I think means “the approach” if I had to translate. My Italian is proving to be somewhat passable this trip—who knew.

The town is really quite beautiful and, I dare say, one of my favorite places so far on the trip. It seems barely touristed if at all. “The approach” by tender to the town is visually stunning with varied colored houses stacked one on another on a hill. One climbs a good deal of steps from the port to the top, where there is a little square. E. said he was going to stop there and meet up with us on our return. For a moment I thought he was stopping for a drink but then realized that’s simply not possible. There was a little square where a man was setting up a stage for some kind of performance with lighting and sound equipment, and a little church which of course we entered into. It was bright inside but dripping with crucifix energy and there was a nave (I think that’s the word) through the confessional area where I could see the priests’ mantles hanging on a coat rack. The room was panelled and somber and quite beautiful. We continued up and up the hill, passing what looked to be cool restaurants with happy hours that went from six to ten o’clock in the evening, so said the sign. we came to a fork in the road and chose one that continued at a slight incline and came upon a sort of antique shop bordering on the junk variety. I was eyeballing the seventies or eighties watches but was discouraged­—they would be impossible to fix when broken I was told. And I did try on a pair of old Ray Ban aviators but they ate my entire face the lenses were so big and round. Moving toward the back of the shop there were china sets. One was super over the top gold coffee set with rhinestone rubies set in the cups. I said to S. “in tacky world these are really beautiful.” E. and C. were in another shop buying presents for children and nieces at home.

There was a road descending down from there where boats were visible and I was of the mind that we could go down that way and circle back round to where the tender came in to meet up with it in the next forty minutes. We went down. “The boys” had an ice cream each. E. and C. caught us up; and I directed us along this bigger port, where cars were being loaded onto boats heading to Napoli and there were arcades for kids and commercial fishing vessels and shops to process the catches and what looked like a ferry port and it felt like we were heading for a cul de sac. So C. whipped out her phone with a location detector and I had screwed up. We were actually on the opposite side of what is apparently a very small island and we had to go all the way back up, over, and down to get to where we arrived. I felt bad but not too. We had passed a poster for Steve Zizou and realized this must have been one of the locations for that Wes Anderson film. Then another poster with a picture of Matt Damon and Gwyneth Paltrow suggest that they filmed Ripley here; on the same poster it was clear that Il Postino was also shot here. I can understand all of this as it does seem quite a remarkable place with which I’m fasting falling in love. We made the journey back and I think I took some cool pictures of S. in the process. Back in the correct port it was suggested we stop for something cool.

To me that meant a Negroni. To everyone else it meant water and granita, but for J.T. who joined me. On shore in Italy the predominant flavor in a Negroni is red vermouth; on the boat they are way more bitter and heavier on the Campari. I prefer the bitter way to be honest but after walking over hill and back again the cool drink settled just right. I paid the tab and we hopped back on the tender and were greeted with still more requisite cool drinks and cold towels. We quickly changed into swimsuits and hit the water which was very warm with a brisk current that necessitated hanging onto the life-line cast out by the crew. J.T. and I picked up the brief tidbits of conversation we had been having earlier in the day in instant shots of collage and we strung it all together. We know all the same people, although he really knows them; I’m forever the outsider when it comes to the theater and performance world. Even those who were once close friends seem to keep me at arm’s length. It all comes down to certain relationships with certain sychophants whom I would not tolerate. It’s fine. And I learned in conversation that people (including Alan) have been struggling with Lance. I need to reach out to someone he messed with this year to communicate the fact that it isn’t personal. He’s just a huge pain in the ass.

We had lovely drinks. N. tried a Negroni but thought it too bitter (the boat version again). We had these sort of pakoras as canapés and then sole (I passed) and quail for dinner with lovely baby carrots and parsnips and crispy leaks and the hagglewhatever potatoes. The boys drank rosé, the rest of us had a lovely New Zealand red. We had a strawberry rhubarb pie for dessert. J. talked about how she almost bought this set of gold cups with the rubies! How weird is that—that poor shopkeeper really wanted to make a sale, which made me sad. Then we had coffees and played cards against humanity after putting the kaibosh on a “muggles” version of the game. Someone was definitely not up for that. She asked if we can do a quick and dirty for Jess when she arrives tomorrow–but of course. I accompanies N. on a trip back into Procida to empty the doggie. The place was filled with music. We climbed the stairs to find a band playing in the square with people of all ages assembled and dancing; like in Greece, children are wide awake and roaming around here at midnight. We had a lovely stroll and a loving chat about feeling like family which is so nice (as I don’t have any, inlaws excepted).

To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree pointof the Sabian Symbol will be one degree higher than the one listed for today. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°,  for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360  degrees spread over 365 or 6 days per year—so they near but not exactly correlate.

Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go!
Copyright 2019 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.

Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2019 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox