June 29, 2012: The Phoenix Connection, Part Two

I hosted an aperitif for some of the Brits today at our place. Much wine was consumed, and as evening came on, everyone disbursed to various village restaurants. Lady Leighton and I had a date with Patrick, a sixty-something oil baron from Texas who’s one of the handful of Americans who lives here, and his wife, Natasha, a South African whom I’d not met before.

We met them at La Taverne, and when I was introduced to Natasha, she said to me, “So, you’re fromPhoenix. Do you know Alan Brunacini?”

“Of course I do,” I said. “His daughter Candace is a friend of mine, and so is his granddaughter, Alana. I’ve been to Alan’s home several times.”

Lady Leighton has had it with the Phoenix thing.

Lady Leighton groaned. “This happens constantly,” she said to Patrick. “He lives in the fifth largest city in theUnited States, and he meets people like your wife, a South African from Oman, and they instantly know the same twelve people in Phoenix. We’re in a peasant village on top of a mountain in France, and somehow everyone is connected to this city in Arizona!”

It’s true. And it’s very, very weird.

 Thing I Hate Today: My French still sucks


3 Responses

  1. It is the three degrees of separation that only exits in Phoenix. Or, as you would put it, you are having a string of Phoenix moments.

  2. I believe the country is Oman. If someone is from Iman, then someone should probably inform David Bowie.

  3. Es-keh two ah une boan-boan-yaire on Paree? Two say, poor ash-tay lay show-ko-la.

    (Bad French about candies).

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