Greg in Italy: The Metamorphosis

Greg went to Italy...

...and was strangely silent for several weeks.

The last time I saw Greg before his journey was at his 21st pre-birthday-party. The invitation for this party was:

Hello friends and new found followers,
As Dr. M., O.S.A has alluded to, the two of us will shortly be leaving for that boot-can shaped country Italy. Wayne and I have been wondering why we didn't plan travel to a country shaped like a bottle, but that is a question reserved for another time.
Anyway. . .Before our departure, I have two announcements to make.
1) Come on, come all. No, this is not a porno. This is Greg's happy fun fucking party. The party begins on Saturday the 29th at 3:00pm. This is not the usual Greg party. This is a big huge thing. All should come. The food will be amazing. We'll be having grill lobster, stuff like that. Come, exploit me. Please, help me. Lots of my family will be there. Without all of you, they will subordinate me, make me eat angel food cake, watch home videos, do the chicken dance JESUS CHRIST PLEASE COME!!!!!!!!!!
....
Thank you all graciously for your time. For those I won't be seeing at the party or talkin to before I leave, have a great school year (while I drink wine in Italy. . .)
Your devoted subject,
gregory

This party was, in fact, all the hedonism and craziness of the summer which I did not experience concentrated into one night. Here's what I wrote to Cherie about said night:

Last night was so much fun. Josh and I went to Greg's party fashionably late, and we were the only Swatties there (strange). Greg's whole family was there; that means that about 60 people were around and about. His house and backyard are so huge that you really can't tell how many people there are. But it was a catered dinner of lobster and grilled things and it was SO yummy. And Greg was awesome to talk to because he was so excited about going to Parma. But the really cool thing was that about 8:00, three vaguely familiar women walk on in. They were Wayne's friends from State College -- Heather, Elizabeth, and Emily. What had happened is that Greg send out the e-mail invitations to Wayne's e-mail list, and these three friends decided to just come. (Wayne couldn't come because he left earlier in the day Sat... good luck to the guy. We toasted him, begging God to let him get the wine he wanted and the good woman he deserved¹). But Heather et. al. had no directions: they only knew

Greg lives in a huge house
the huge house is in Villanova and
Villanova is near Swarthmore
So they drove past Swat, took the Villanova exit, and just followed the cars filled with the best potential party-people. They were lucky and followed the right car to the H. home. They checked the mailbox to see if the name was "H." and came right in. By that point in the party, Greg and his dad were in a tipsy Kareoke contest (the party had a DJ, of course). Greg and Josh would sing old rock tunes -- John Cougar Melloncamp's "Jack and Diane", lots of Beatles, etc. -- and his dad would retaliate with Sinatra and the like. I can honestly say that Greg's dad is more insane than his son. The clinching moment was when Greg's dad did a Godfather impression. It was very convincing and cleared up any doubts I had in my mind that Greg's family is, indeed, The Family. But it was a great a party and Josh drove me to Swat, I fell over in my bed, and slept a well-deserved sleep.
¹The polite way of putting it. The real toast, "To Wayne getting laid," was followed by load cheers and much wine.

The day after the party, My Dear Brother Noomsey departed, and we were Greg-less.

Time passed. Two weeks, in fact.

Then I got a very short e-mail from His Gregginess:

Dr. Groom,
Well, lemme put it this way: it's 6:30, it thursday, and I've been drinking for a few hours. . .
Yes, Italia is grand. The views, the buildings, everything - it kicks, as they say, major ass.
... I'll be dropin in a domani.
Ciao, buon divertimento,
gregory the wanna be Italiano.

I was really glad to hear that Italy was agreeing with Greg. My sneaking belief that Greg was more Italian than the Italians was confirmed by a subsquent e-mail which ended:

Peace and Peets,
gregory bacchus hansell

Bacchus!

Everything fell into place. Greg's insanity, tolerence, and charisma were not those of a mortal; there was a reason he was a religion major; he was, like, some kind of God. When Josh and Chris visited him, they caught a photo of him and Jupiter smoking together.

But there were still heretics among us who refused to recognize Greg's transcendance. He grew angry, and justified his Godhood in no uncertain terms.

I miss the dude, but I doubt campus will survive very long when he gets back. But, ha-ha! The joke is on you! I'll be at Pendle Hill, safe and sound.

Tranquilo Pa || Greg || Italy