Easter with Mussolini and More(!)

If I were to sum up the weekend, I might try to do it with a little ditty. Something in the vein of "Holy Cannoli! Mussolini on a Pony!" This could be explained by the pilgrimmage I took with Julia, Zoe, and Savann to the church I'd teased you with way back in the early days of my blog that boasts a fresco of Mussolini (on a pony) over the high altar. And what better day to feign Roman Catholicism than Easter Sunday! I needed to get a photo of that bad boy. With my ultra sly LCD viewfinder, and an ultra elderly pew of churchgoers, I was able to subtly capture this infamous image.

Here's where the cannolis come in. We purchased them at an unassuming Patisserie that was written up in the New York Times Style Magazine. I appreciate the store's imperialization of the Slain Lamb, impaling his back with that flag like one would do on Everest's summit. I respect this. Mark your territory! After all, I'm a bleeding heart imperalist (and dog lover).

Like a good heathen, I co-hosted an Easter party with Julia. There was dancing, a fine spread of desserts, and the French language. I ate three deviled eggs. I looked at a map with a man from Benin. We both traced our trajectories to Montreal (via Nebraska, France, Madison; via Benin, Paris). Later, everyone circled 'round and did The Wave.

I invited Benito, but I guess he had other plans.