Rarely but still often enough, and especially when surrounded by many loud people, I remind myself of my illustrious origins. “Sono un nobile veneziano,” I reassure myself under my breath. On these words, I pull myself up, rearrange my limbs, and raise my head ever so slightly. In my mind, I become the epitome of subtle grace coupled with spirited vigor. Although I feel a bit silly about my claim of nobility, long lapsed as it happens to be, I take solace in the fact that the Serenissima is dead for centuries. As is its nobility as a political and economic power, as well. A bit uneasy about my little ruse, I take solace in the fact that being a Venetian noble is just that, an innocent ruse. But effective it undoubtedly is, as witnessed by this honest if flippant confession. In addition, it lasts for hours.