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My Book Tours Italy -- Lake Como
I did not have an Italian (or American, for that matter) book tour. But my book did tour around Italy. Here's the results.
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It's been said that money won is twice as sweet as money earned. True. But there's something even sweeter -- and that's going ahead and totally fucking blowing that won money on ridiculous and
luxurious things. Just up the lake from the town of Como is the small town of Cernobbio, where George Clooney makes his home in Italy. Cernobbio also hosts, just about five minutes from Giorgio's villa, the
world famous and, until now, famously exclusive Villa D'Este. With the sudden influx of cash, riding a high from a Juventus victory, and feeling incredibly chic with its new Italian eyewear, my
book decided to forever deglamorize D'Este with its presence and see what all the fuss is about. ![]()
But for all the lushness of the gardens and plushness of the hotel, it is still, ultimately, the views of the lake that remain the most spectacular feature.
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Now, this following portion of my travelogue should be read and viewed with the understanding that I am a fiction writer, and so therefore may have taken a couple of liberties with the facts here. I may be played fast and loose with the truth, or, perhaps, it is even pushing the boundaries of a complete fabrication, aided and abetted by crappy Photoshop skills. Nevertheless. As I mentioned before, George Clooney is a Lake Como inhabitant. While riding the ferry one day, I happened to pass by his villa, and my book lost its fucking mind and made a dash for it. It leapt overboard, and made a hasty swim toward the shores of Giorgio's beach. Perhaps, of course, if my book were telling you this tale, it might be tempted to imply that its mad dash toward Villa GoodLooking was, in fact, initiated by myself, with a rather forceful overhand throw, hurling it toward shore while I screamed "Danny Ocean! I LOVE YOU!"
Anyhow, while those details remain fuzzy, here's the kicker. Imagine my surprise, when, later that evening, I found myself in a charming local trattoria and as I glanced across the room I was amazed by the sight
of Signore Sexy himself, showing off his latest find, telling Brad Pitt to back the fuck off, as Clooney himself was already claiming an option on the material. The scene may have resembled this:
Then again, that may have never happened. But let's just assume that it did happen and that I felt compelled to march up to ComoClooney and take back my book and inform him that, while I appreciated his interest, I definitely preferred to remain a struggling unknown writer, wallowing in obscurity, before bidding him Arrivaderla. And then my book and I moved along to Bellagio.
Even MORE pics on the following pages:
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