OK, so How was fixated on men's voices. (OK -- so he was one of the most male-identified men I've ever met.) Still, I hope -- I hope, I hope, I hope -- he's being serenaded by Adelina Patti (about whom he teased me mercilously) singing the aria "Ah, non credea mirarti". If I have a say here, I would like it to be the Patti of 1876 or so who's singing to him while he's sipping some unbelievable vintage of God-only-knows-what:
| Ah, non credea mirarti si presto estinto, o fiore: passassti al par d'amore che un gionro sul d'urò |
[roughly: I didn't think that I'd see you dead so soon; you died like the "love" that lasts for only a day]
Godfuckingdamnit.
Is it a prerequisite for meeting me that you'll die within a few months?
Well, fine. So Howard may not have liked to hear Adelina Patti sing the aria to him. He'd have *loved* the cabaletta "Ah, non giunge".
Shit. Fuck.
