Nel blu, dipinto di blu

Let's see. A grown man crying in my office. My computer still on the fritz. Students buzzing everywhere. My assistant off god knows where. Yep, it must be Thursday. In Microsoft Word today, every time I tried to open a document, my email would open instead. Swear to god.

Dean Martin is singing. Have you noticed how he gets a little saccharine at times? His trills showboaty, some of his choices questionable? He doesn't have the artistry that Frank had, but that's usually not a problem, because his charm comes through loud and clear. And his version of Volare is the one I remember from my boyhood, spent so far away in the Italian countryside (read: Boston).

I took this photograph when I got home today, from the back porch. Nel blu, dipinto di blu.