Yeah, so I had the most random afternoon yesterday. I went car shopping. When's the last time you had a car salesman take you to a two-hour-plus lunch? And show you real estate? And take you to run errands?

I called this car salesman here because, well, I need a car and one of my friends here highly recommended him. "Gino" was his name-o. So he picks me up at the base in this little Alfa Romeo hatchback and drives me to his dealership a couple towns over. On the way, he asks me if I have a place to live yet, and when I tell him no, he asks if I'd like to see a place that a friend of his is renting out once I've settled on a car. Having nothing else to do this afternoon, I tell him okay. Then he says, "this car is really dirty; I'm going to drop it off at the car wash and pick up another one there to take back to the dealership." So we go to the car wash and trade the Alfa Romeo (which he's been trying to sell me on the whole time) for some random-ass European sedan that kind of reminded me of a Chrysler Sebring (and which he also tries to sell me on). We get to the car dealership, and it actually wasn't to difficult to pick out a car and get a fair price for it. Probably could have got him to come down another hundred or so, but no biggie. So by now it's about 2:00--time to close up for lunch, along with the rest of Italy. He asks if I want to grab a pizza with him; I'm hungry and have nothing else to do, so I say okay. At the same time, I'm looking at a brochure on his desk for the BMW Z4 and I make an offhand comment about how I'd really like to have one. Instantly, I'm like his best friend. Naturally, he owns a Z4, so we MUST go back to his apartment and get it and take it to lunch. So of course we do. Sweet little car, too. And of course, like the rest of the Neapolitans, he drives like a maniac, but more so since he's got the little sportscar. Passing on the left...passing on the right...doing 160 kph in a 40 kph zone...sort of like Boston, only 3 times the speed and one or two more extra lanes than even the Bostonians manage to create. Anyway, he decides that I need to see a townhouse that a "friend" of his owns, so we swing by in the convertible to see that. Really nice place; really friendly landlord, although he doesn't speak a lick of English. An old Italian guy who looks like he came straight off the set of the Sopranos. So I poke around there politely, and then we're careening along the highway in the Z4 again, in search of pizza. Instead, though, Gino decides I need to experience some nice southern Italian seafood. So we sit down in a little harbor town at an outdoor table where we're served with at least 12 different dishes, including shrimp (with the heads still on), salmon, octopus (big), octopus (small), shrimp (with mozzarella), clams, mussels, squid (with eggplant), some kind of shellfish I've never seen before but apparently comes in a long cylindrical spiny shell, oysters (HUGE), and I'm sure a couple of others that I'm missing. Meanwhile, we're sitting next to this group of like 20 schoolteachers, all 40-ish (like Gino), also out for lunch. And he's convinced that this one woman wants him, because she "keeps looking at me that way...you know, under her eyelids like they do?" Even though she's married, he's adamant that she wants him and that he needs to find some way to slip her his phone number, because, "she will be great in bed...I can just tell these things." Yes, this is my car salesman, whom I met not two hours previous. So we sit at lunch for almost 2-1/2 hours just enjoying the nice day, and when we finally leave Gino gives his number to his friend the waiter to hand to the pretty married school teacher. Back in the convertible, facing almost certain death again, he decides we'll now go see the first house he told me about that's available for rent. So we do, and it's gorgeous--3br, 2 bath, it's own yard with a giant fence around it, huge garage, marble stairs, porch, and balcony (yes, marble stairs, porch, and balcony; it's beautiful), and well within my allowance. He gets a check in his box from that landlord for bringing an American by to check out the place, and then we go run errands--drop off the Z4 at some kid's house to ferry a Mercedes to the dealership, then get a ride to the car wash to pick up the Alfa Romeo, which we then take to a mechanic to get the A/C recharged; mechanic drops us back at the Z4, and Gino finally brings me back to base. So a 5-1/2 hour car-buying trip, of which only about 20 minutes involved finding and discussing a car. There was a period there where I was pretty sure he had kidnapped me and was just carrying me around until he found a convenient time to harvest my kidneys or something. It was easily one of the most bizarre experiences I've had in awhile. But fun.

And on the bright side, I've got a hell of a farmer's tan from sitting in that convertible all day.