Serendipity

Carmel-by-the-Sea, California

I like John Cusack. Do I like him, like him? Is he equal in stature to other members of my I-really-like-this-actor club, like Daniel Day-Lewis or Colin Firth or Sam Waterston? And, is that last question reminiscent of those on tests where you have to pick the one name that doesn't fit in? Anyway, no, he doesn't get to join that club, but I like him in most of his movies that I've seen. He started out with that young, quirky face -- the wry smile and sad eyes. Then, he grew into that face. His young face was in the scene with the boom box in Say Anything. Love that scene.

So, John Cusack came to mind when I entitled this post Serendipity, because he made a movie by the same name. Actually, Billy and I kinda know the director of this movie, Peter Chisholm, as he is a customer of Billy's. I like the idea of the movie, and it is a solid chick flick, but not a favorite of mine. So, moving right along . . .

Last week I was tooling along on my morning walk in Carmel. I rarely take the same route. Carmel is like a lot of places which, unlike the neighborhood where I live, is pretty much laid out in a grid. The streets get a little wavy as you get near the point, but you can rather easily truck along in a chessboard pattern. And I walk them more or less like a knight moves across the board (kinda funny -- in a town like Carmel with a renowned Mission, you would think I'd walk through it like a . . . wait for it . . . bishop! Hahahahahahahahahaha! Oh dear). Anyway, I tend to move a block over, then a couple of blocks down, and vice versa, hitting the pattern in which a knight moves, as I recall. I don't play chess much and I'm having difficulty remembering, as well as staying on the subject. So, the walk . . .

I came down a street that Ts into Bayview, which is where the house that Sandra and John used to own is located. They lived in Carmel before we knew them, but I would bet that we crossed in a store or on the street during that time. I took a photo of the house, texted it to Sandra, then walked the remaining yards down to Scenic, which is the street that runs along the ocean. I hadn't walked too far before I came to a curve where there were a few cars stopped, and a small group of people standing around. From this point you can see all the way up Carmel beach and to Pebble Beach beyond. I had my head down, doing my version of power walking, when someone said to me: See the space shuttle? And there it was, flying low across Carmel beach. I had forgotten that it was going to fly over Monterey, but had managed to hit the best spot to see it at just exactly the right time. It flew along Carmel beach, then cut in, flying right over our heads. So close! We were like kids chattering and cheering. It looks so small, I said. No, a guy with a Carmel Fire Department tee-shirt said, It's not small (you stupid, blonde bimbo). But in contrast to the jumbo jet carrying it on its back, it looked rather, well, petite. And sleek. Wow.

I had grabbed my phone and snapped a few pics of it as it was going over, and they probably would have turned out quite well, except that I hadn't charged my phone that morning and the battery was running low. Low enough that the camera couldn't operate. As I walked on up the beach, I was supremely disappointed. But then, I thought, wasn't it enough to see it? I almost missed it, but it was serendipitous that I was right there at the beach, in the best place to see it. I was lucky. The odds of seeing a whale in the bay are pretty good (see post entitled Thar She Blows, available here right now at a close-out price), but the odds of seeing the space shuttle fly by? Well actually, pretty good if you remember that it's going to do that. In my case, I was working against the odds, but it still worked out. So I shrugged off the misfire of the camera. Not meant to be.

As this trip comes to a close, in a week, I think about serendipity. We had a perfect trip to San Francisco, and the Dodgers won the game we attended at AT&T Park. That will stay in my memory with a residual glow. I heard a homily at Mass at the Carmel Mission that made me think about something in my life in a new way. And, the space shuttle flew right over my head. Being in the right place at the right time. My friends who speak yiddish call it beshert -- meant to be. And, as I've written in my blog, ad nauseam, F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote about (paraphrase alert!) moments when everything goes all glimmering. Serendipity. Just when you get complacent and begin to take life for granted, it may come your way. Or fly over your head. And, in case there isn't a fireman there to remind you, here is my last bit of advice on this subject: Don't forget to look up! And, thanks for reading my blog.

The George Clooney Effect

Los Angeles, California

It's time for a recipe, so I thought I would mix you up one of Billy's martinis. My girlfriends say that Billy makes the best martinis, and here is his specialty.

Vodka Martini

2 ounces        Ketel One vodka
a dribble of  Cinzano dry vermouth
1                       jalapeno-stuffed green olive

Place vermouth in a small martini glass and swirl around. Pour out (or, as my dad did, drink) any excess. Place a handful of ice cubes and vodka in a small shaker. Wrap shaker with towel and shake about fifteen to twenty times. Set aside. Place olive in glass (I like to use a decorative pick stuck through the olive, especially since I've bagged these from hotels, restaurants and resorts around the world) but Billy considers this 'clutter'). Give the shaker about ten more shakes, then immediately pour over the olive. Makes one martini -- of the size that martinis are supposed to be, unlike the current supersized ones!

Note: I drink martinis with a twist of lemon. Billy uses a lemon zest "stripper" to remove about a two-inch strip of lemon zest. He runs it around the rim of the glass, then carefully ties in in a knot. Into the glass it goes in place of the olive. I prefer a martini with a twist, though sometimes I steal the olive out of his drink, just out of spite. He doesn't seem to mind.

Having just seen a movie with a lot of cocktails in it (though mostly whiskey in a crystal glass which can be fine on cold, rainy, or bluesy days), I thought I would provide the above recipe. I went with Lydia to see The King's Speech last Friday, even though I had already seen it. It was a cold (for Los Angeles) rainy day, and seemed the perfect time to be indoors at the movies (other appropriate times are when the temps soar over 100, but that's months and months away). Lydia doesn't see a lot of movies out at the theaters. She's a busy chica and her work entails a long commute. So time is of her essence, and these days with ads, interminable trailers, and the length of movies, going to see a film can tie up an entire afternoon or evening. Time that she doesn't always have to spare, or that she'd rather spend SHOPPING. But I knew I could get her out to see this because of one of the film's elements. And that element is Colin Firth.

Lyd and I have been friends for a long time, but only recently did we discover that we shared this Bridgette Jonesesque Colin Firth thing. Mine started back in 1987 after seeing him in a PBS series on Masterpiece Theatre which was, I believe, entitled Lost Empires. He was young (as was I, come to think of it). Lydia discovered him after seeing him in A&E's Pride and Prejudice. Think of that series as his version of Last of the Mohicans which put Daniel Day-Lewis on the map for a lot of American women. But I don't want to write too much about that because Daniel Day-Lewis could be a whole 'nother post or two or three.

So, back to Colin Firth. After seeing him in Los Empires back in the late '80s, I searched the video store in hope of finding him in movies. A couple of "country" movies came up, and I eagerly rented them. One was Another Country which also had a young Rupert Everett in it. The other was A Month in the Country, which, as I recall without checking here, also starred Kenneth Branagh. Billy called this our Colin Firth Film Festival. In truth, this became a contentious point in time which came to a head, if memory serves, after we rented A Handful of Dust (which Colin Firth was not in). After viewing that film, Billy put down a moritorium on Brit films. He was running a pint or so low on chase scenes, and had pretty much had it with World War I told from the British point of view. Luckily I had gotten a good fix of Firth movies before that point.

So where does George Clooney come in to all of this? Well, here's the thing. I really get the Colin Firth thing. I get the Daniel Day-Lewis thing.  Both of those in a BMW (big major way), in fact. But I must make a confession: I never really got the George Clooney thing. That is, until I experienced him in a movie where I really, really liked him. And that movie was, The Fantastic Mr. Fox. Now, if you're familiar with this movie at all, you know that he's not visually in it. It's animated. And if you saw the film, you know how good it was, and how good he was voicing the main character. And maybe that's where he got me. The voice. Like Colin Firth, for me, it's the voice. Cary Grant? Voice.

OK, now I've done it. I've simply got to digress and, at least briefly, write about Cary Grant. For a long time I have believed that Cary Grant movies are the best antidepressant on the market (with no harmful side-effects, plus affordable!). I don't love them all. Some are decidedly better than others. And I own most of those better ones. I started collecting them some time back and have a pretty good DVD library of them. Don't know why this is, but they always work for me. Bad mood? The blues? Mean reds (which is worse than the blues, as Holly Golightly pointed out)? Try Cary Grant movies -- especially my favorite, The Awful Truth. It will do much to uplift and pull you right out of it. You must trust me about this.

Perhaps some day, I'll collect George Clooney films to yankify this thing that I have with British actors. Don't know why I have that, but I am reminded that my late father, who was a first generation American raised by an English father (and in a very English way, it appeared) once dissed my affection for Greta Garbo films.

"Don't you like Greta Garbo, Dad?" I asked.

He shook his head. "She was a cold fish," he stated.

Cold fish, I thought? This from a conservative and proper father who was strict about manners, never cursed (wouldn't even let me use the word bitchen in our home), nor told an off-color joke. Had that thing which Freud called sex raised it's ubiquitous head in this conversation?

"Well, then, what actresses did you like better?" I questioned. I figured I'd cut straight to the chase. However, even with the cold fish comment, I expected him to come up with Greer Garson.

"Sophia Loren," he said, in a shot. No thinking about it. It was Sophia all the way.

I would love to say that this conversation finished on a witty note, but it was difficult for me to respond with my mouth hanging open. Dad?!?

Well, he had good taste and to prove it, next time you're feeling blue, try Houseboat. A lot of bang for your buck, as you get Sophia AND Cary. Antipasto and antidepressants, so to speak. And while you're Netflixing, do order The Fantastic Mr. Fox. If you're not getting the George Clooney effect yet, this may do it for you. If not, I hope, like Lydia and me, that you have Colin Firth to fall back on. Thanks for reading my blog, and le sigh . . .