Dambusters

This advert was on regular rotation on the 4 channels available on the telly when I lived in London in the early 90s. Although I was a Tennent's Extra Lager drinker at the time, when I was at another pub, I occasionally ordered a Carling's, on the strength of this ad. And it IS quite a strong ad.

Apparently, the dambusting technique was pioneered by the Brits as part of the Allies' plan to take out Nazi industry. Wonder how successful it all was. In any event, as I've said before, "Love beer. That is all."

Woody Allen's Manhattan

Paragraph 1: George Gershwin's iconic Rhapsody in Blue plays over pristine black and white images of classic New York tableau ... (nah, too declarative. And "iconic" and "classic" in the same line? Bleah.).

Let's see ... Paragraph 1: If you could only choose one movie opening to say everything there is to say about a city and person who lived in it ... (mmm. Who am I, Bill Moyers?)

Uh. Paragraph 1: Woody Allen, in his day, was New York City's biggest fan and greatest ambassador. In his love letter to Gotham, Manhattan, he can be found making some bold, and pitch-perfect artistic choices, even within the first three minutes. (Oooh, I love this ...). Truly one of the great opening scenes in the history of cinema, we start with the New York Philharmonic playing Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue. Need anything more be said about that piece? The voice over, often considered a sign of laziness in a screenwriter, here isn't really a voice over at all. It's just Isaac Davis struggling to come up with a paragraph to open his oft-promised, never-started novel. Black and white, was there ever a more flattering way to depict images seriously? (Wait, where the hell am I even going with this? Maybe I should try Queens).

I just learned that my favorite Woody Allen film, Manhattan, is being released on Blu-Ray. I am looking forward to sharper blacks, crisper whites, clearer jazz, and the same sharp crit of pseudo-intellectual bourgeoisie and urban male neuroses that I was so captivated by when I first watched it amongst other film geeks in college. But most of all, I am looking forward to this in high-definition:

Isaac Davis's darkened apartment, he descending a spiral staircase, and his 17 year old girlfriend, played by a sublime Mariel Hemingway, seated far to the left, thumbing through an oversized book. Both are bathed in the only light sources, reading lamps, in the room. Man I love that image, a portrait of a man wandering through his things, struggling to find his way through mid-life, destination known.

Now more than ever, I feel like I live in that darkened room.

Seinfeld & Superman

Was this the zenith of 90s advertising? Yeah, I think so too. From my perspective, the only way to improve this would be to have Jerry pal around with the Caped Crusader. But I think the mood and tone would change.

"Oh YES! Wyoming."

Ride of a Lifetime

My son and I went over to my parents for our weekly dinner together day before yesterday. As we were stepping out of my truck in the driveway of the home I grew up in, my parents’ neighbor, George, roared around the corner in a sparkling blue convertible.

Now I’d heard about this convertible. George, a wildly successful eye surgeon, had a long-standing relationship with a local luxury car dealer. In the past few years we’d seen a parade of fine automobiles roll into his house next door; Maserati, Rolls Royce, Bentley. Cars that stood out even in my parents’ already wealthy neighborhood, where Benzes, Bimmers, and Lexii were the norm. But I had turned my nose up at all of them, until today.

I had heard that George’s Bentley GT Continental was in the shoppe and they’d given him a Ferrari as a loaner. This was it, gaudily rolling up my parents’ hill.

He had obviously spotted my son and me right away. Without hesitation, he skipped the turn into his house and pulled into our driveway, the engine from Maranello howling despite its idle. Equally without hesitation I blurted “I want a ride”, not caring how forward I sounded. I had never ever been in one of these before.

“Of course, Benjie. That’s why I pulled in here!”

And so it happened that I found myself in the passenger seat of the Ferrari California, a 450 hp, retractable hardtop, V8 beauty, with my son sitting in the small backseat behind me. George was resplendent in a loden sport coat, driving mocs, black-framed Ray Ban Aviators, and a Breitling for Bentley watch. The interior was also well appointed in leather, creamy in both color and touch.

The center stack boasted an LCD monitor and no gear lever, given the shift paddles on the steering column. There were cool gauges and switches everywhere, including those on the steering wheel, which reminded one of those found on F1 cars. We roared around the neighborhood, experiencing the motivation of 8 angry cylinders as we charged up to 60 in 6 seconds. He took us to the Waialae Country Club, the site of the recent Sony Open, less than a mile away, just to drive through the porte cochere, so the smart set could catch a glimpse of us.

Not taking his Ray Ban’s off the road, he exclaimed to me over the engine bellow, “You know, Benjie, they tell me I can buy this very car for $ XXX,000.00. What do you think?” He knew me as a serious car enthusiast. I thought, “Well played Mr. Luxury Car Salesman.” Nevertheless, I strongly encouraged him to make the purchase, especially with “I’d let you drive it but I can’t; it’s a loaner” still ringing in my ears. He considered my response and visibly inched perceptibly closer to Ferrari ownership.

Clearly, George was enjoying his time with this car.

Now George is more family than neighbor and I was thrilled to see him in the context of this little episode. Thrilled. He and his family moved in next door to us 25 years ago, and their son, about 10 years younger than me, went to my prep school and then on to Notre Dame, as I had, and later enrolled in law school. Like their son was to me, George and his wife were better than a decade younger than my parents, and had clearly invested all of their best wishes for their son. Augusto was their pride and joy.

So in 2006 when Augusto passed away unexpectedly, the lives of George and his wife completely fell apart. They’ve spent the past five years trying to put it back together. Given their character, faith, and beliefs, they have most certainly succeeded in the reconstruction. But from the perception that comes from daily next-door interaction, we know that it will always be incomplete.

It was nice to see George play with this car and realistically imagine what it would be like to own what for many is the pinnacle of sports motoring. Whether he follows through with the transaction or not, I liked the idea of George considering the possibility. It was not a mood I had seen him in for years.

At one point during the short drive, George turned to my son in back. He was more engrossed in his Harry Potter book than this ride of a lifetime. “Timmy, is this car wild or tame?” George floored the pedal to punctuate the question. My son, 7 y.o. and not yet past such invidious comparisons, smartly answered “WILD!”

And there we were, two forever OnceWereBachelors, wordlessly appreciating life and what we have and what we have lost.

Bottles I've Owned

When I was a bachelor, I sometimes found myself without someone to celebrate an occasion. Not so tough, that. I've had my share of alone holidays, but when you live in your home town, you're never really alone, especially when you're down with being with your family (which every man should be, by the way). But for meaningful little things, like your first not guilty jury verdict or the day you come home with Steely Dan's first new music after a 20 year recording hiatus, it's nice to have something to mark such an occasion.

I probably bought this bottle for just such a reason, although I don't remember now what it might have been. I probably opened it alone as well. Before I got married, I tended to accumulate these bottles and I have a small platoon of them in different brands and spirits now, left over from that time, emptied to different levels. I cared for them like treasured toys that would never find the Goodwill bin. They moved with me to homes bought and sold.

Mostly for no reason, I still open them and pour some into the appropriate drinking vessel. This bottle is Oban, one of many a single malt whisky I've acquired and enjoyed. A pally I cocktail with mentions the brand here and it is one of my favorites. It gets poured into a heavy rocks glass from a gal I fancy. I won't try to describe it, as my palate is not so refined. They all taste like a caramel of one sort or another to me, which is to say they all taste wonderful. When it runs out - and that may or may not be soon - I am certain to look for another of the same.