Res Ipsa Loquitur

There is a legal concept embodied by the latin phrase "res ipsa loquitur".  It essentially means that no discussion whatsoever is necessary because "the thing speaks for itself".  Well.  Here's an example.

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 Bans 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.

What I Wore Fifteen Years Ago: the Denim Shirt

Here’s what I’m copping to: what I wore 15 years ago was a comfy blue denim shirt from Land's End. And one from Polo. And one from J. Crew. And Ruff Hewn. Paired with khaki chinos on a Friday, they were everyone’s idea of “business casual”. What is inapparent to all but the Honoluluan readership is that a denim shirt is way too formal for this city, even when the sleeves are rolled up. You see, the Aloha Shirt, is more than acceptable five days a week here, but I was unwilling to accept that until, oh, 14 years ago. I know you don’t believe me but not all Aloha Shirts are of the laughable variety, either. Now I know better.

If one had to temporarily be someone else, one could do far worse than Alain de Cadenet. Despite the fact that, as far as I can see, all he ever wears – other than racing togs – is a denim shirt and pleated chinos, even to this day (14 years after the fall of the style, in my book). There isn’t much said about Mr. de Cadenet on wikipedia and IMDB. I didn’t even know whether he was a bachelor, a OnceABachelor, or a OnceAOnceABachelor until I looked it up (he’s a OnceAOnceA). But it sure looks like it would be fun to be him for a while.

Here’s what I know about him: former Brit race car driver; collector and flier of vintage aircraft (including a WWII Spitfire); father of Amanda de Cadenet (think a 90s UK Paris Hilton); owner of an Omega Speedmaster; wearer of trad racing goggles. His current gig is to appear on various High-Def TV broadcasts to sing the praises of different classic cars, including broadcasts of the Goodwood Revival vintage car races.

His greatest run is as the host of a series on Speed Channel called Victory by Design, in which Mr. de Cadenet spends a whole season sampling all (yes all) the cars from the world’s great racing marques. Ferrari. Porsche. Maserati. Aston Martin. Lotus. Jaguar. Alfa. Ford. These hour long episodes are automotive pornography, really, featuring Mr. de Cadenet at the wheel of priceless collectible sports cars. Above is the money shot for the Jaguar XK120, sashaying around British country B roads, lovingly filmed, engines roaring. Interspersed with his barely-contained enthusiasm for the subject, and a depth of knowledge steeped in history, engineering, and even styling, this is hardly your typical NASCAR documentary about how moonshining and bootlegging gave way to oval tracking. I have the Porsche and Ferrari episodes on DVD and they are wonderful.

So he may be a decade and a half out of style in his denim shirt and Dockers, even when he’s wearing a leather A-2 and goggles, but Mr. de Cadenet’s definitely got a good gig going.

Oh, and his son's name is Bruiser.

Trifecta at the Selvedge Yard

This is a just a quick blurb, free of wit or irony (as if this blog is usually filled with both). Just straight reportage. Head over to the Selvedge Yard (see my list of Blogs I'll Cocktail With). He's knocking 'em out of the park lately (to mix metaphors) with the vintage racing posts. Three in a row, to be accurate, the first about the battle between Carroll Shelby and Enzo Ferrari (incredible video that I wish were available in US DVD format), the second about McQueen coming in 2nd to Andretti at Sebring, and the most recent about drivers in apres-race repose.

Abre Los Ojos (Open Your Eyes)

Cameron Crowe is one of the more deserving of media darlings. I'll spare you the backstory, just watch the autobiographical Almost Famous. His movies are always more satisfying than the five movies that I watch before or after. Each one is special, even the smash hit from whence he got the money, Jerry Maguire. His other Tom Cruise movie, Vanilla Sky, offers one of the great opening eight minutes in recent memory. Keep in mind that Crowe intended this movie to be one non-stop pop culture allusion from beginning to end.

This is just a cursory list of things Crowe has crammed into the first eight minutes that make it both great and OnceWereBachelorean:

1. New York City from a God's eye view;
2. Central Park;
3. The Dakota;
4. Bachelor Pad;
5. Penelope Cruise's voice in her native tongue;
6. Audrey Hepburn, from Sabrina (and therefore a hint of Humphrey Bogart);
7. Disappearing plasma screen;
8. Mahogany wainscoting;
9. A Bout de Souffle poster;
10. IWC Schaffhausen Spitfire Mk XV pilot watch on leather with deployant buckle;
11. Smashed Gibson SG under glass (could be Pete Townshend's);
12. Ferrari 250 Granturismo Omologato;
13. Times Square, completely empty (I say again: Times Square, completely empty);
14. The mother of all anxiety attacks, amidst the most amazing billboards west of Tokyo (there's a panoply of relevant images that flash at this point, but I'm not going to try);
15. Repeat;
16. Cameron Diaz under the covers;
17. 1967 Ford Mustang 390GT (trust me, I can tell from the V8 burble);
18. R.E.M.; and
19. Cameron Diaz dancing to R.E.M. in leather pants.

It doesn't stop at minute eight, and the whole movie is worth multiple viewings. Just ignore the critics and the box office. And ignore that Tom Cruise is in it.

Daytona

DAYTONA:


The Rolex Cosmograph Daytona, worn by race car driver and actor Paul Newman, and generally considered one of the classic chronographs of the horological world.

DAYTONA:



The Ferrari 365GTB/4 "Daytona" V12 coupe, named to commemorate Ferrari's 1-2-3 finish at the 1967 24 Hours of Daytona race. Brock Yates and Dan Gurney clocked the then-fastest New York to Los Angeles time in one in the original Cannonball Run.

DAYTONA!:



The Shelby Daytona Coupe designed by Carroll Shelby and Peter Brock campaigned to many victories in endurance racing. Six chassis were built, this one disappearing from view after 1971 only to turn up in a California storage "barn" (they're all "barns" in automotive stories like this) 30 years later. It belonged to known Southern Cal weirdo Phil Spector.


nb: please excuse the Jay Leno.

King Kamehameha Club

We've spent a princely sum on my son's swimming lessons these past three years, and he's only now feeling comfortable in the water. Money well spent, though. Proof? Here's a cool video of my son doing the armed side-stroke in the pool of the fictional King Kamehameha Club, the same club that retired Navy Seal turned P.I. Thomas Magnum belonged to.


When I was in high school, Magnum fever was everywhere in Honolulu. Their studio was a few blocks from my home in Diamond Head, Tom Selleck lived even closer, and around town we would frequently see the film trucks, T.C.'s helicopter, and occasionally, the red Ferrari 308, sometimes laden with camera scaffolding. Larry Manetti ("Rick") rented videos at the same store I did and Larry Hillerman ("Higgins") lived in a friend's condo. Good times.

We didn't join the "King Kam", as Magnum called it, because he was a member, though. We joined so my son would have a readily accessible pool for his use, with a large sunken bar not five steps away from which dear old dad could keep an eagle eye. They serve everything from Guinness and Sam Adams to above-average trop cocktails (word to the wise: avoid the martini, it ain't that kind of place) and local-style finger food (sashimi, garlic steaks). You can go from cannonballs with your kid to mai tais with the mates as the sun sets and the waves lap at the sea wall nearby.

Life is good when you're a OnceABachelor who belongs to a private club on the beach and a son who can swim laden with weapons.

Ferrari: The Great Putdown

Yeah, I like red sports cars, so what?



Here's a clip I just got off of Jalopnik, one of the "non-porn sites that I frequent". It's not quite the legendary guerrilla filmmaking of Rendezvous, which depicts a hood-ornament's view of a Mercedes Benz 6.9 careening through the busying streets of early morning Paris. But that vintage video has passed from cult status into the mainstream (think mallrat: "I looove Rocky Horror Picture Show. No I haven't seen it in a theater but I own it on DVD.") I like this 8mm film, called "The Great Putdown", because it's less premeditated. It portrays two vintage Ferraris -- a California Spyder and GTO coupe, to be precise -- racing irreverently down Mulholland Drive. The narration is pretty good too.

This is from a time before Ferraris were accoutrements for the super-rich, when anybody who appreciated that kind of fun could realistically aspire to own one. Okay, maybe not anybody, but with a bit of focus and luck, you're in rosso corso, baby. From our modern perspective, it's hard to comprehend these two fine automobiles being treated this way when forty years later they would be multi-million dollar collectors items, but here it is for all to see.

For the record, though, I could do without the Steppenwolf. Blech.