miami vice memories

What to write, what to write....
Im tired.
Its hot out.
The office is still a mess.
I went out to dinner last night with friends and unknowingly ate a protest salad.
It was called a Si Se Puede salad, named in protest of anti-immigration laws.
It was damn good.

Did I mention that Im tired?



After dinner, we all went to see Miami Vice.
It was fun.
The shoot-outs cracked me up.
I dont know if they were supposed to, but I enjoyed them.
I'm sick like that.

There was a scene in the movie where Colin Farrell and Li Gong go blasting through the ocean in a sexed up speedboat.
I mention the scene for two reasons:

1) If you listen, there is a beautiful Moby track set to it. Its one of two that he has in the film. This scene is the best marriage of sound and image in the whole movie, as far as Im concerned.

2) It reminded me of a story I thought Id share.
I like telling these stories because they usually take place in ridiculously glamorous places with ridiculously glamorous people. Like an embedded journalist, I grew up quietly observing life from the gilded corners of expensive restaurants and page six nightclubs; in but never quite of the world that surrounded me.

So this story takes place in St. Tropez, about six years ago.
I was hanging out with a very interesting mix of people, one of whom was a huge construction mogul from Lebanon of all places.
He had a boat very similar to the one used in Miami Vice.
It was obscene.
A few of us went out on it and traced the edge of the Cote dAzure- cutting through the waves as if on glass.
Ive always looked back and envisioned the scene precisely as Michael Mann shot it- as an expansive and swooping ELS (extreme long-shot). Watching the scene while the sumptuous song played over it, I couldnt help but chuckle a bit.
What a bizarre life Ive led.



In a semi-related note, one of the other people there was Ivana Trump, with her then beau, Ferrari dealer Roffredo Gaetani di Laurenzana dell'Aquila d'Aragona Lovatelli.
I know- an absurdly long name.
He was a count in Italy and having met a few of those (another story), I know how much they love their long names.
Their business cards are literally oversized to fit all the prefixes and titles.
No joke.

The point is that Roffredo was involved in an extremely grim and tragic car accident seven months ago and sadly did not survive.
Despite his machismo and playboy reputation, Roffredo was a genuinely nice man. I remember him being unexpectedly warm when we first met, and he only became more gracious and kind as time went on.
I was very sad to hear hed passed away.
My condolences go out to his family, who lost their other son only a year earlier in a parachuting accident.

Most of my stories dont end so morosely but unfortunately, a few of them do.
As my mom says, we are all living on borrowed time.
It's another reminder to live it well.