tomorrow’s trends in Web couture. On Twitter, though, nobody could care less.
On the Twitter backchannel, it was all Carla Bruni. They were bewitched by Carla Bruni, they just couldn’t get over her. Even the Brazilians were keenly interested in Carla. The Brazilian futurists were asking many innocent questions about Carla — her Carla-ness, her Carla-osity. The Italians were burningly eager to discuss every last little doing of “the Green-Eyed Italian Witch.” They were so proud of her!
What a romantic story Carla Bruni had. Romance fiction was too small for the world-conquering Carla Bruni. Carla’s father was not her mother’s husband. In fantastic, soap-opera fashion, Carla hadn’t known the truth about her own father until she was an adult. Her father was Brazilian. The Italian-French-supermodel-pop-singer First Lady of France was half-Brazilian.
The news of Carla’s Brazilian heritage set off an instant Twitter Carnaval. Linked pictures of Carla suddenly showed up on Twitter. The Internet had never lacked for languorous, sexy photos of Carla Bruni. Carla had been a European supermodel, so there were vast archives of a seminude Carla, in all her slumberous, gym-toned glory. Carla had changed the world by lying on top of it in lingerie.
Here was the basic Futurist scenario. A President of France had his back to the wall, in the worst political trouble of his life. Because his wife was divorcing him, while he still held office. An awful scandal. Disasters like that are simply not supposed to happen in France.
And then this stunningly beautiful girl — a goddess, a witch, an unearthly, paranormal creature — comes by the Elysee Palace with her guitar, to talk about recording policy on the Internet. Carla was worried about her music royalties, like every other doomed musician in the world.
Eight months later, and Carla Bruni is a princess of music. Just like Eliza said, in her artless, hopeful, teen-girl fashion, but for real, in broad daylight. A princess of music whose new best-frenemy is the glamorous Princess Letizia of Spain.
Carla is a princess of music, married to the President of France — she gives away all her music royalties to an orphanage. An orphanage in Haiti. An orphanage in Haiti for the children of AIDS victims.
Fantastic. Unprecedented. Surreal, even. Gavin had heard of Carla Bruni, but he had certainly never heard about the orphanage in Haiti for the children of the AIDS victims. He stared in raw disbelief at his laptop screen.
This showed a mastery of human events that was, frankly, supernatural.
That was European soft-power at its most fierce. That was like being shot from a drone aircraft flying at a vast cultural height. That was terrifying.
Then, Carla’s romance story became even more surreal. And, in some sense, even more romantic. Carla Bruni’s gay brother had died of AIDS. Carla came from a stricken AIDS-victim family. Carla had fled from Italy at the age of seven because bloodthirsty Italian Communist terrorists were trying to kill her. Carla Bruni-Sarkozy was an AIDS-afflicted terrorist-refugee supermodel pop-star who married the President of France.
How could those bizarre words appear in newspapers? How could that possibly be the truth? Way, way too true to ever be fiction. Every single word of it true. You could look that up. On Wikipedia.
There were no objective metrics for this kind of contemporary weirdness. Could there be anything more to it, any further leap of fantasy to break the final limits of human disbelief? Yes. Carla Bruni had once been Mick Jagger’s girlfriend.
Gavin shut his computer and shoved it inside his shoulder bag. He wiped his sweaty brow with clammy hands. Then, he left his front-row chair to say hello to Fabio Mascherati.
Gavin knew Fabio rather well. Gavin had ‘discovered’ Fabio Mascherati. That was to say, Gavin had known, for a long time, that some speculative guy like Fabio Mascherati just had to exist. Web e-commerce was
On the Twitter backchannel, it was all Carla Bruni. They were bewitched by Carla Bruni, they just couldn’t get over her. Even the Brazilians were keenly interested in Carla. The Brazilian futurists were asking many innocent questions about Carla — her Carla-ness, her Carla-osity. The Italians were burningly eager to discuss every last little doing of “the Green-Eyed Italian Witch.” They were so proud of her!
What a romantic story Carla Bruni had. Romance fiction was too small for the world-conquering Carla Bruni. Carla’s father was not her mother’s husband. In fantastic, soap-opera fashion, Carla hadn’t known the truth about her own father until she was an adult. Her father was Brazilian. The Italian-French-supermodel-pop-singer First Lady of France was half-Brazilian.
The news of Carla’s Brazilian heritage set off an instant Twitter Carnaval. Linked pictures of Carla suddenly showed up on Twitter. The Internet had never lacked for languorous, sexy photos of Carla Bruni. Carla had been a European supermodel, so there were vast archives of a seminude Carla, in all her slumberous, gym-toned glory. Carla had changed the world by lying on top of it in lingerie.
Here was the basic Futurist scenario. A President of France had his back to the wall, in the worst political trouble of his life. Because his wife was divorcing him, while he still held office. An awful scandal. Disasters like that are simply not supposed to happen in France.
And then this stunningly beautiful girl — a goddess, a witch, an unearthly, paranormal creature — comes by the Elysee Palace with her guitar, to talk about recording policy on the Internet. Carla was worried about her music royalties, like every other doomed musician in the world.
Eight months later, and Carla Bruni is a princess of music. Just like Eliza said, in her artless, hopeful, teen-girl fashion, but for real, in broad daylight. A princess of music whose new best-frenemy is the glamorous Princess Letizia of Spain.
Carla is a princess of music, married to the President of France — she gives away all her music royalties to an orphanage. An orphanage in Haiti. An orphanage in Haiti for the children of AIDS victims.
Fantastic. Unprecedented. Surreal, even. Gavin had heard of Carla Bruni, but he had certainly never heard about the orphanage in Haiti for the children of the AIDS victims. He stared in raw disbelief at his laptop screen.
This showed a mastery of human events that was, frankly, supernatural.
That was European soft-power at its most fierce. That was like being shot from a drone aircraft flying at a vast cultural height. That was terrifying.
Then, Carla’s romance story became even more surreal. And, in some sense, even more romantic. Carla Bruni’s gay brother had died of AIDS. Carla came from a stricken AIDS-victim family. Carla had fled from Italy at the age of seven because bloodthirsty Italian Communist terrorists were trying to kill her. Carla Bruni-Sarkozy was an AIDS-afflicted terrorist-refugee supermodel pop-star who married the President of France.
How could those bizarre words appear in newspapers? How could that possibly be the truth? Way, way too true to ever be fiction. Every single word of it true. You could look that up. On Wikipedia.
There were no objective metrics for this kind of contemporary weirdness. Could there be anything more to it, any further leap of fantasy to break the final limits of human disbelief? Yes. Carla Bruni had once been Mick Jagger’s girlfriend.
Gavin shut his computer and shoved it inside his shoulder bag. He wiped his sweaty brow with clammy hands. Then, he left his front-row chair to say hello to Fabio Mascherati.
Gavin knew Fabio rather well. Gavin had ‘discovered’ Fabio Mascherati. That was to say, Gavin had known, for a long time, that some speculative guy like Fabio Mascherati just had to exist. Web e-commerce was
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