February 12, 2013
Well, happy Carnevale. While they’re whooping it up in Venice, with masked balls and banquets and elaborate costumes and masks, here in my sleepy village at the southernmost outpost of Italy, the only trace I’ve seen of carnival spirit today is the odd tiger, lion or skeleton.
When I caught up to him, I asked where his tiger head was. “I forgot it at home,” he said, clutching his tail.