That big Italian singer, Luciano Pavarotti, finally died. I thought he was much older than 71. Italians don’t age well when they eat too much. Live hard, die hard.
We met Pavarotti a couple of times at official functions in the White House. “Big Luciano” was probably big in a number of ways, and not just his voice. The man could eat. He probably left 300 calories in his beard after each meal.
Sting and Bono loved the guy. Even I admit he could sing, but he was no Fleetwood Mac. Pavarotti was given the gift of planetary superstardom by singing so loud you couldn’t understand the words. Maybe that’s just opera.
He and Bill hit it off. They were about the same size and had many common interests. Bill loves double cheesburgers and beer, and Pavarotti loved pasta and wine. Close enough. They both loved the ladies. Pavarotti’s third wife (or was it his second; so much for coming from a Catholic country) just had a daughter a few years ago. A few years before that he tried to hit on me at a benefit party.
Pavarotti was born in Modena, which is in northern Italy. Had he been born in the south we never would have heard from him. Something about the work ethic there.
Honestly, I don’t know how some men make it in the world. Pavarotti couldn’t even read music. I think he just sang so loud it forced everyone in the orchestra to keep up.
Cancer is a bad way to go, especially when there’s no hope. He’s better off now, anyway.