Roger (Moore) and Me

In which we discourse on the dangers of being well dressed

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Yesterday I went "on assignment" for Ivy Style, my friend's new website about classic men's apparel. I dressed for the ocassion: Navy Brooks Brothers blazer, white button-down open at the collar, buff-colored trousers with a light glen plaid pattern, new pair of tan-and-brown two-tone Florsheim Imperials -- which are still breaking my feet in, painfully -- and a large pair of aviator shades.

It was a nice day, so I walked through the park on my way to a cafe to get something to eat before proceeding to my rendezvous with a photographer downtown. At a bench in the park was a group of four ratty looking teens, one of whom was discoursing loudly to the others about the ills of the world. At 10am, he had a bottle of Bud in one hand and a Red Bull in the other. Mid-sentence he glances at me and says to his buddies, jerking his thumb my way, "And then there's world-class shits like this running the country... "

I guess he thought I was a banker. I passed on without comment.

Later, at the cafe, a woman sitting with her boyfriend looked at me and did a double take. Her beau swung his head around to look as well and, as I walked by, I heard him say "mumble, mumble, ROGER MOORE, mumble mumble... "

I sat down behind the woman -- I don't think that they knew I could hear them -- and they launched into a conversation about which Bond was the best Bond. Maybe they also saw the recent Roger Moore profile in the Telegraph as well. The woman gave me the ultimate compliment, though, and compared me to Daniel Craig. Thank God my abs were hidden.

In any case, from now on I'm making the Roger Moore look my signature look.

A Mighty Roar

In which we get loud

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Fleet Week '08. Little Man's first air show. We watched the ships go by and then saw the acrobatic planes.

But Little Man only wanted to know one thing: When are the Blue Angels coming? When are they coming? Are the Blue Angels here yet? Before the Angels came on, an F-16 fighter went through her stunt show. It was the first time that Little Man had experienced the glorious noise that is afterburner. He shrank down in his little seat and cringed.

"Whatsamatter, buddy," I asked, "is that scary?"

"Uh-huh," came his meek reply.

"It's okay," my sister said. "You'll get used to it."

"And," I added, "then you'll start liking it!"

In the end, he did. He wants nothing more than to come back next year.

Fat Albert, the Blue Angels' transport plane, flies in through the Golden Gate.

Four of the famous Angels fly in diamond formation -- 18 inches wing-tip to wing-tip -- low over the bay.

Little Man mans the guns at and gets the bad guys. Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-taaah!!!

Heh-ppy Buh-thday

In which we wish Wilde well

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Today would have been the 154th birthday of Oscar Wilde. Tipple a glass of the old fée verte in honor of the dizzy old queen. Don't have absinthe? Champers will do.