On the Croatians of Split, a city on the Adriatic coast:
“. . . better laugh at yourself before anybody else has time to do it . . . I suppose it comes of being watched all the time by people who thought they were better than you . . . people here are not rich, but they have considerable elegance.” (Black Lamb and Grey Falcon, pp. 141 – 142)
Coming next: Chapters on Split II, Salonae, and Split III.
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Last night, since it is The Man’s birthday in a few days, self treated him to dinner at Van’s, the throwback restaurant of all throwback restaurants, where they still serve 2-lb. steaks, ridiculously good garlic mashed potatoes, prime rib, rack of lamb, pork chops, calf liver and other gustatory delights of the bygone 40s or 50s. In times past, we have manfully partaken of the 2-lb. porterhouse, but last night The Man, who is trying to watch his weight, settled for an under-a-lb. cut of New York steak. Despite the more manageable portion, The Man still looked quite green by the end of the night. Self can honestly say she has never seen The Man look that way before. She knows he was feeling “off” because he actually consented to have her drive. But that could have been the martini combined with the glass of red wine. He parked at a steep angle (Van’s is up the side of a hill in Belmont) and when self tried to back out, the car instead went forward. Directly ahead (and below) was a motel sign saying, Goodbye and Goodnight. At that point, self decided she’d rather have The Man assume the responsibility for crashing, at least it would be something she could throw in his face, and not vice versa. So we changed places, and self closed her eyes, and after a jolt forward and a mighty shudder, the car did indeed move away from the precipice, and we were able to at last make it home, though she did wonder why The Man zoomed ahead on all the yellow lights.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.