The picture below? That's Naples. Not the one in Florida. That's the view from my apartment. Looks good from up here. Different story on the ground. I'm looking forward to showing you around, through the city's (and my mind's) narrow, smog-choked streets.
Strange, but my heart is beating faster than usual. Am I really that excited about starting a blog? Up until about a month ago I didn't even know what a blog was. I can tell this is going to become addictive like those miniature pastries they sell on every block in Naples, the ones with the tiny strawberries on top. Those tiny little baby strawberries -- fragoline -- make me coo. Yes, coo. Like a dove. Or a pigeon, for even those urban doity boids coo.
I am surprised at my tone. I have never written like this before. I feel weird.
Tomorrow is New Year's Eve, but the napoletani have already started blowing things up, launching rockets, setting garbage on fire. Mom always said, "Don't go out on the balcony on New Year's Eve in Naples!" Not my mom. Fabio's mom. My mom lives in Brooklyn.
Fabio is a name like any other in Italy. Not all Fabios sport long golden locks, have bulging biceps, and grace the covers of romance novels.
My husband is not named Fabio. I am keeping his name a secret along with that of my daughter. Neither of them read English, my husband because he only reads Italian, my daughter because she's only 8 months old. My husband would recognize his name on this blog, however. And he is a typically paranoid Neapolitan. So I have to be extra cautious. Not that he ever goes on the computer. So now who's being paranoid?
I feel like I am reaching out to a whole bunch of people -- friends, family, other bloggers -- and yet no one knows I have started this blog. Why do I feel a little bit dirty about it?
My baby is sleeping and I should be, too. But this is kind of fun. I'm warming up. Just getting started. I've got coffee ice cream in the freezer, a couple of chocolate truffles, Monsoon Wedding waiting for me in the DVD player, the new issue of Zoetrope All-Story, my husband at work. In other words, lots of choices. But I be bloggin'. Blah blah bloggin'.
That will hopefully be the last time I write blogging with the in'.