At the end of a Cul de Sac, which literally means the bottom of the bag, is where I've found myself in young, professional life.
Suburban life is dreadfully boring, and most here seem OK with that. My mission is to fight it; this is my trail of breadcrumbs into the wilderness.
“The food factor should always be massive: four Bloody Marys, two grapefruits, a pot of coffee, Rangoon crêpes, a half-pound of either sausage, bacon, or corned-beef hash with diced chilies, a Spanish omelette or eggs Benedict, a quart of milk, a chopped lemon for random seasoning, and something like a slice of key lime pie, two margaritas and six lines of the best cocaine for dessert… Right, and there should also be two or three newspapers, all mail and messages, a telephone, a notebook for planning the next twenty-four hours, and at least one source of good music… all of which should be dealt with outside, in the warmth of a hot sun, and preferably stone naked.”
I have a love for old racing cars, and especially old Jaguars. Imagine my astonishment, discovering today that Jaguar made one mid-engine (!) prototype of a v12 racer that never saw the light of day. The car, of course, is gorgeous and exists as exactly one vehicle now owned by the Jaguar Heritage Trust. Do make sure the speakers are nice and loud to hear that engine note. I feel like a little kid looking through the display at a brand new toy…
"I certainly had an appreciation of the danger which to me was part of the pleasure of racing. To me now racing is - the dangers are taken away: if it’s difficult, they put in a chicane. So really now the danger is minimal - which is good, because people aren’t hurt. But for me the fact that I had danger on my shoulder made it much more exciting. It’s rather like if you flirt with a girl, it’s more exciting than paying for a prostitute, because while you know you’re gonna get it, the other one you don’t. And I think with driving a motor car, the danger is a very necessary ingredient. Like if you’re cooking, you need salt. You can cook without salt, but it doesn’t have the flavour. It’s the same with motor racing without danger. For me."
-Sir Stirling Moss, seen here racing the legendary Jaguar C-Type at the 1953 LeMans
“During the mid-’80s, in the middle of the night, an intoxicated Jagger phoned up Watts’s hotel room and asked, “Where’s my drummer?” Watts got up, shaved, put on a suit, tie, and freshly shined shoes, walked down the stairs, punched Jagger in the face, and said, “Don’t ever call me your drummer again. You’re my fucking singer!”
“But with the throttle screwed on there is only the barest margin and no room for mistakes. It has to be done right . . and thats when the strange music starts, when you stretch your luck so far that the fear becomes exhilaration and vibrates along your arms. You can barely see a hundred; the tears blow back so fast that they vaporize before they get to your ears. The only sounds are the wind and the dull roar floating back from the mufflers. You watch the white line and try to lean with it … howling through a turn to the right, then to the left and down the long hill to Pacifica … letting off now, watching for cops, but only until the next dark stretch and another few seconds on the edge … The Edge … ”
– Hunter S. Thompson, Hells Angels: A Strange and Terrible Saga
What’s not to love about my personal favorite of Bond films, You Only Live Twice? I love the super rare Toyota 2000GT convertible (made because Connery is 6’2”), the screenplay by Roald Dahl, and the cool Italian promotional poster above. Lots of great trivia exists about this one, and I think it remains one of the coolest yet over-the-top of the Bond franchise.