cal d’hommage

As you might have guessed, Cal d’Hommage is not his real name. In fact he was né Calvino di Maggio, but was forced to “francize” his name when his mother abruptly moved across the border in efforts to shield her brood from their Casanova of a father. Cal grew up pretending to be French, but knowing in his heart (and body) that he was Italian. This marked the beginning of a confusing internal battle he is still fighting today. Very early on, it was discovered that he was a natural at soccer and was about to be the youngest person ever to be draughted to play with Les Bleus, when a terrible accident involving a sheep, the headmistress, a ladder and a bucket of 25-year-old traditional balsamic vinegar from Modena (?) left him bedridden for the next 5 years of his tender life. However, this time spent supine did not go to waste. Along with discovering his genetic advantages with the night and day nurses, he found time to complete a Ph.D. in œnology via correspondence classes, and it is said he taught himself to play the guitar (not sans a little help from Jimi Hendrix and a walkman™). At this time, he also developed an inexplicable affinity for American show tunes (though this might have been a side-effect of the operation). At long last, on his 16th birthday –which also corresponds with Bastille Day– he was able to walk out of the hospital. With the monies he received from the undisclosed settlement from the French government (we are not at liberty to discuss whom, what or why, but we know the sheep is involved) he decided to try his luck in America, just like his forefathers had (except that he had @#$%loads of money). When Cal arrived in New York, he had a guitar, a love of wine, @#$%loads of money, a mustache, and a dream. And though he promptly forgot the dream and shaved his mustache (when he realized he was getting more attention from men than from women), he strapped on his Stratocaster™, posted himself in front of Cipriani’s terrace and started singing his childhood songs to whomever would give him a glass of Nebbiolo. Céline Dijon and Jean-Luc Retard happened to be sitting at Cip’s one fine spring day, talking to Yoko in fact, and they were so taken with Cal that they invited him to their table. They talked about Pasolini, they sang Beatles songs, they smoked, they laughed, they drank, they went back to the Soho Grand. AND WROTE SONGS!