Portrait of a boat in a field

by Lorin Michel Sunday, May 29, 2011 10:56 PM

It sits in a field surrounded by rolling hills on the south side of Kanan Dume as you drive toward the beach. Small and rotting, it looks both completely at home and horribly out of place amidst the canyons of Malibu. I’ve noticed it for years, ever since I’ve lived here in Oak Park and have had occasion to drive Kanan both north and south. It has a dark hull and a lighter rim. Weeds have grown up around it and through it. It points aft toward the road as if watching for someone to come, to visit, to welcome it into port.

I’ve often wondered about this boat sitting in a field, alone. Wondered how it got there since it’s so far from water, wondered who owned it, wondered how long it has been there and how long it would stay. It’s a forgotten vessel, something that was once sea worthy or at least lake worthy. I can imagine it floating out on a body of water, a man and his son safely on board, a red and white cooler stowed safely under the wheel, out of the sun, away from the birds. In the cooler: tuna fish sandwiches with lettuce on wheat bread, apples, chocolate chip cookies and cokes. Enough for a day of fishing. A transistor radio played the local baseball game, probably the Dodgers; maybe the Angels. A pail of fresh caught trout or catfish resting under a tarp; a bottle or two of sunscreen tossed on the deck. The boy would laugh at dad’s lame jokes about go fish and leading a fish to water.

I’ve often wondered….

This tiny little boat, forgotten in the middle of a field on the way to Malibu, looks so lonely. Perhaps it got left behind accidently, when someone parked there with it on a trailer and it rolled off, unnoticed. Perhaps it was left on purpose, no longer needed. Maybe it was a source of contention between a husband and wife. Maybe it’s haunted.

I’ve often wondered who owned the boat, if perhaps the person who owns the property left it there to mark the territory. But I’ve never seen it move, never seen any evidence that anyone has been there recently. It hasn’t moved; it has remained anchored even as thousands of cars drive by. I wonder how many notice the odd little boat sitting awkwardly in the field. I wonder how many wonder why it’s there, or if they simply take it as it is. A boat in a field, alone and adrift in a sea of flowing grass.

I celebrate the boat on this Memorial Day eve, for its loneliness and its haunting beauty. It’s a portrait of a past forgotten, a portrait of the canyon. A portrait … of a lost soul.

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The hunchback of noter don

by Lorin Michel Saturday, May 28, 2011 11:27 PM

When Justin was little he was a talking machine, a ball of energy as most kids are but he was never silly. He was a Capricorn, and Capricorn’s are serious by nature, even when small. I, too, am a Capricorn, so I know this first-hand.

Kevin would pick him up from pre-school when he was in Montessori, buckle him into his car seat and then get into the driver’s seat, adjust the mirror down just a bit so as to see the little redhead with the enormous glasses, and then off they’d go. Kevin had only to ask: How was school? A litany would follow. As Justin spoke very matter-of-factly, he’d slouch down in his car seat, slurping from his sippy cup filled with juice, his right leg bent, the ankle lazily slung over his left leg. He looked like a little old man. All that was missing was the cigar and newspaper as he discussed the day’s news.

He would chat about artworks accomplished, aquariums, and books, what he had for lunch, what he wanted for dinner, and what movie he wanted to see. It was invariably a Disney flick, one that he would watch wide-eyed in the theater amidst shrieking children, and then once released on video, watch it again.  And again, and again, and again and again, and so on. One more time, daddy.

In 1996, Disney released The Hunchback of Notre Dame, an animated musical about the famous hunchback Quasimodo, charged with keeping the famous Paris cathedral’s bells ringing true, as well as other things, including loving the beautiful gypsy Esmeralda. Justin was fascinated and wanted nothing more than to see this ancient story by Victor Hugo as interpreted, much more nicely, by the mouse.

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He wanted to see the hunchback of noter don. Kevin pointed out that he thought it was, in fact, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, pronounced dom.

Justin thought about it for a moment, sipped his juice and shook his head. Then he sighed heavily.

“No, daaadddd,” he announced definitively. “It’s noter dooonnnn.”

There was no convincing him, just as there was no convincing him that the cartoon Chip ‘n Dale was not chip, chip and dale.

Message: Kids know what they know when they know it, and they are seriously convinced of their knowledge.

So tonight I’m celebrating the wonder of childhood and the seriousness of its convictions. I’m not sure there’s anything better.

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On and about this Friday

by Lorin Michel Friday, May 27, 2011 11:10 PM

It’s the day before a long weekend, the official kick off of summer even though summer doesn’t officially start for three more weeks. Still, barbecues all over the country are getting fired up, and every aisle in the grocery store begins and ends with some sort of chip. Last night we went into Albertsons in Westlake and they had built an awning over the entrance that consisted entirely of potato chips, corn chips and sun chips. At the base of the awning and traveling up through the fake posts were bottles of salsa and cheese dip. It was a virtual smorgasbord of cholesterol.

Today, in celebration of the long weekend, we decided to take off early from work. We had planned on 11; naturally that didn’t happen. I’m convinced that it would be better to not plan and to be spontaneous in deciding to play a bit of hooky. We got out of here around 1:30, went to the store, got a couple of turkey wraps, a couple bottles of water and yes, a bag of chips. Then we climbed on the motorcycle and off we went to have a little ride and an even littler picnic.

It was an absolutely beautiful day. The sky was blue, the sun as warm but not hot, a nice breeze but no wind to speak of. The main roads were already getting crowded but the canyons and side roads were completely open. We headed out Lindero Canyon, south to Agoura Road, then we wound our way to Kanan Dune toward the beach, hung a left on Cornell and cruised out toward Paramount Ranch.

Paramount Ranch is best known around here for its old west town and its pumpkin festival in the fall. They do a lot of filming there. TV shows like Dr. Quinn: Medicine Woman was filmed there, as were Gunsmoke, The Rifleman, and countless television episodes from non-western genres like The X Files. Movies from Gunfight at the OK Corral to Reds were also filmed there. Paramount Studios bought its 2700 acres in 1927, and in addition to the ghost of a town whose facades and signs change with the film, there are trails, streams, canyons and the ghost of a racetrack. That’s what we went to see today.

The 2.0 mile figure-8 like chicane was designed by Ken Miles and built in 1956, surrounded by cliffs, hard banks and rocky terrain. Only a few races were actually run because the track was quickly deemed too dangerous. There were three fatalities in just 18 months and the insurance company cancelled the policy. The track closed and has been rotting into the landscape for 50 odd years now. Some of it was supposedly still visible; hence our little adventure.

Surprisingly, almost all of it can be found if you walk it and follow the map I discovered online. The bridge is even still there where the track crossed under, dangerously close to the concrete walls, but then the track disappears under the trees and brush and into a new stream. The other twists and turns are still there, though. We hiked the whole of the track, or what we could find of it, drinking our water and munching on chips.

And then it was back on the bike for the journey home. Hot, dusty, a little sun-drenched but we had such fun. I don’t know if it was playing hooky for the afternoon, celebrating something years past, or just enjoying the incredible freedom of being on the bike. It was a good day.

Here’s to a wonderful weekend for all. 

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Let the wind be with you

by Lorin Michel Thursday, May 26, 2011 10:08 PM

I have long been fascinated with the windy city, even before I met my husband who is from the Chicago area. I first visited it with him before we were married when we went to celebrate his birthday in early December and to see a football game. Bears v. Bills. That year, probably 1996, the Bears sucked as they do so many years. But they beat the Bills. It was a good game, sitting outside at Soldier Field. Mostly dry, with a couple of flurries and the ever-present wind. It was cold but not bitter. I would get warm by going to stand in the restroom where blowers blasted hot air.

This past December 2010, we were again in Chicago. This time we went to celebrate both of our birthdays. It was cold, windy, rainy and finally delivered white-out blizzard conditions. Once again we sat outside at Soldier Field as we prepared to watch the Bears and the Patriots. Both teams were having a great year, though the Pats kicked the Bears furry little butts all over the snow-covered field. Still, it was a fabulous trip.

I’ve never been to Chicago when it’s not winter and cold unless you count flying through O’Hare to change planes. I remember doing that years and years ago, before I knew Kevin. The weather was descending right behind the plane. The sky was black with a storm and light flashed behind the dark clouds. Lightning was approaching and fast. I was probably flying United because in those days all flights on United with a final destination of the east coast meant touching down in O’Hare, a United hub. I was on my way to Boston. As the sky got blacker, the board showed many flights being canceled. We got out; we were the last flight.

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My luggage stayed behind and arrived some time the next day.

I know it’s windy; I know they’re partial to storms. But Chicago, founded in 1933, is one of the world’s top ten global financial centers. It is ranked by Forbes as the world’s fifth most economically powerful city. It is known for pizza, gangsters like Lucky Luciano and Al Capone, the great fire of 1871, and in 1885, the first steel-framed high-rise building, the Home Insurance Building. The Willis Tower (formerly Sears Tower) and the John Hancock Center are two of the tallest buildings currently. There is the Second City, and Grant Park, and Lincoln Park which is both a suburb and a band, and Lake Shore Drive and Michigan Avenue. And then, of course, there’s jazz. And there is nothing like Chicago jazz. Raw, expressive, sensual, sexual and completely, totally alive. It pulses through you like a heart beat.

For no reason and every reason, I celebrate one of my favorite cities tonight. It popped into my head, though it is never far from my heart. 

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A brief history of wine labels

by Lorin Michel Tuesday, May 24, 2011 10:32 PM

I’m not generally a big fan of labels. We tend to use them to define people and I like to think that people are beyond such easy categorization. But labels do serve a very real purpose when applied to products and especially to wine. They allow you to know exactly what’s inside a bottle, where it came from, and may even tell you a story about how it was made. It’s called the marketing blurb. And it is there to make you feel good about what you’ve purchased.

When it comes to wine, the feel good part is fairly easy. I have been drinking wine long enough, and have learned enough about it through visits to wineries, discussions with winemakers, reading and tasting that I know what things I like to see on a label. I’ve mentioned that our current fascination is with any red sporting the year 2007 on its label, especially if it’s a Syrah or a Cabernet Sauvignon or Franc. I also look for wineries whose quality I know is superior. We’re partial to California wines, and Napa Valley and Santa Ynez specifically. Certain regions of Napa are best: Stag’s Leap and Rutherford produce great grapes. We always stay away from any labels saying Coastal because we know the grape quality is inferior.

Wine labels can be works of art. Colorful, expressive, and eye-catching which is key because most people are not wine connoisseurs. They like wine and they know what kind of wine they like. White wine drinkers like a Pinot Grigio or a Chardonnay. Then they begin drinking reds but start with lighter varietals. Pinot Noir, Merlot, Burgundy, Chianti and Shiraz before graduating to Bordeaux, Cabernet Sauvignon, Zinfandel, Syrah and Cabernet Franc. But they don’t always know specific wineries or vintages so a great label can make a sale.

Wine labels have been around for centuries. They first made an appearance in Greece around 4000 BC when wine was considered a gift from the gods, especially the god of wine, Dionysus. King Tutankhamen’s tomb contained wine jars with wine labels. They had enough detail to meet some present day label laws including the name, the year and amount. Many wine labels that came after consisted of writings on parchment tied to the neck of a bottle with twine. By the 1700s, labels were designed on a stone. Ink was then applied and a roller transferred it to paper. By 1798, lithography had been invented and wine labels could be printed in mass quantities. As winemakers gained more and more pride in the quality of their wines, creating the perfect label to show it off became more and more important. Designs and especially color became prevalent.

1950 was the year that things really began to change. Thanks to an Italian law dictating that certain information had to appear, each label began to show the wine producer or brand, the bottler, the region and country of origin, quality classification, vintage year, bottle volume, alcohol content, sulphite content and a warning label that pregnant women shouldn’t drink. Many also carry the marketing blurb though it's not mandatory.

Several years ago, Kevin and I started to dabble in wine making. We bought some rudimentary equipment including carboys, storage containers, a corker and more. Our first batch was a cab-merlot blend, the second was a straight cabernet. Each batch gave us about two cases. It wasn’t great, but it taught us a lot. Interestingly we’ve let several bottles age in the wine cellar and they’ve recently gotten much better.

Our wine needed a label. Our friends Roy and Bobbi designed one for us and it’s fabulous; all about the look, the color, and the shelf appeal. If we ever make the big time, we’re going to be in the running for label of the year. I just know it.

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A brief history of wine bottles

by Lorin Michel Monday, May 23, 2011 10:46 PM

When last we left our courageous wine drinkers – that would be Kevin and I – we were raising a glass and toasting the light after discovering the glorious history of wine. Today it only makes sense to continue that exploration by taking a look back at wine bottles and how wine came to be stored in those long, cylindrical, easily binned (stacked) works of art.

The first winemakers of Mesopotamia and Egypt used clay flasks to store their liquids. The oldest wine jar dates back to 5400 – 5000 BC and includes the vineyard’s name, the type of wine and the vintage. Wine jars were used for thousands of years, through the Grecian wine trades, until the Roman’s got into the game. Among the many things the Romans developed while in power was the art of glass blowing. Glass was quickly found to be a good medium for storing wine because it didn’t affect the wine’s flavor and was easy to see through so drinkers could see how much was inside. That part hasn’t changed. What was difficult was maintaining bottle size consistency. This explains why buyers would bring their own containers to market and buy a measured amount of wine to be carried away in their own container.

As time progressed, so did bottle making. Colored glass was introduced in different shapes and sizes. Many of the original wine bottles were onion shaped because they were the easiest to blow, but wine makers and merchants soon discovered that longer, flatter shapes were better for storing wine on its side. By the 1800s, standard-sized bottles were introduced. Depending on the region, 700 ml or 750 ml were chosen, with the maximum size standard bottle being around 800 ml. Magnums and other special sizes didn’t yet exist.

As for corks, we thank the Brits.

The word bottle comes from the old French word boteille by way of the vulgar Latin butticula and the late Latin buttis meaning “cask.” These casks eventually became more standardized in terms of specific shapes for specific varietals. Burgundy style bottles have sloped shoulders and are generally used for Chardonnay and Pinot Noir. High shouldered bottles, known as Bordeaux style, are used for Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and Malbec. Hock style, very tall and thin with sloped shoulders, are for Reislings and Gewurztraminer. Then there is the Syrah shape. Big, fat, heavy, sitting low and steady, with shoulders that slope practically to the counter. This is my favorite bottle because it’s my favorite wine. Its bottle matches its personality perfectly.

“Good wine is a necessity of life for me.” I wish I could take credit for saying that because it’s how I feel. But it was Thomas Jefferson who gave voice to my feelings so many years ago. I like to think that one of the fathers of our country, the author of the declaration of independence and the third president, was drinking a nice red as he said that. Poured from a beautiful bottle.

Unfortunately it was probably French. But seeing as how brilliant he was in all other matters, and because California had not yet begun to grow grapes, I’ll give him his Bordeaux.

I celebrate the wine bottle. I celebrate its ability to transcend time, and to allow the most phenomenal wines to age beautifully without growing old. If only we were all so lucky.

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Just my type

by Lorin Michel Thursday, May 19, 2011 10:16 PM

I grew up at a time when high schools actually offered typing as a class. Granted, an easy class for an easy grade, which is why I took it. I wasn’t lazy in school and got mostly As. But typing just seemed like a quick way to get a credit toward graduation. So I took the class during my sophomore year. I think, but can’t remember if, we had electric typewriters.

I learned the home row, with the small dots on the F and the J. Even modern computer keyboards have those place-finders, because that’s what they are. It tells you by feel exactly where to place your fingers for maximum access to the upper and the lower rows. Left hand, from pinky in, has fingers on ASDF, right hand, pinky in is ;LKJ. I remember learning those letters/symbols and typing words using only those letters. FAD, SAD, DAD, then expanding to including the G and the H. HAD, GLAD. From there I learned where the other letters were, largely by memorizing. I also learned to type the words not just the letters. Once I could see a word in my head it became easy. In other words, I didn’t type I-T. I saw “it” and miraculously the word appeared. I use what I learned in that one semester class every single day. Who woulda thunk?

I type upwards of 100 words a minute and they’re mostly spelled correctly. With the computer and the delete key things are easier when I make a mistake. If it’s a common word I’ve miss-typed Microsoft Word is kind enough to fix it for me. If it’s a little more obscure, I simply hit the delete key and it disappears. How I ever lasted with an electric typewriter and a whiteout ribbon still makes my head hurt.

Pity the poor people who had to write everything by hand, at least prior to 1713 when the first typewriters were created. In 1741 British inventor Henry Mill got a patent for a machine designed to make impressions on paper. In 1829, American William Burt created a wheel that spun to the desired letter, and in 1833 Frenchman Xavier Progin came up with the novel idea of having each letter and symbol appear on its own type bar. Christopher Sholes created the first practical typewriter in 1867 when he arranged the keys into the modern QWERTY pattern. He sold it to the Remington Arms Company, a gun manufacturer, in 1873 and by the year 1900, the Remington typewriter was selling nearly 100,000 a year.

Fast forward to now when nearly every person deals with a keyboard in one form or another every day, sometimes multiple versions. I have my Mac as well as a PC. My smart phone has a full keyboard, as does my iPad. I have to resort to my pre-typing-class two-fingered method though when using the latter two. And it’s OK.

Typing is a great way to communicate efficiently. It helps me tremendously. And as I’ve always said, if this writing thing of mine doesn’t work out, it’s something for me to fall back on.

Somebody, somewhere needs a typist. Right?

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Charlie Brown and Snoopy go to the moon

by Lorin Michel Wednesday, May 18, 2011 10:13 PM

May seems to have a lot of fun anniversaries. The other day I wrote about the 25th anniversary of Top Gun. I also saw recently that May, and May 18th in particular, is the 859th anniversary of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine. They married in 1152 in what was, by all accounts, an elaborate celebration. Their nasty union however, especially the latter years, was chronicled in the fabulous 1968 film starring Peter O’Toole and Katharine Hepburn, The Lion in Winter.

May 18 is also the anniversary of the 1969 launch of the fourth manned mission of the Apollo space program, Apollo 10. Classified as an F type mission, it was to provide a dry run for the famed Apollo 11 moon landing, but without actually landing on the moon. The lunar module actually came within 8.4 nautical miles of the moon’s surface. The commander was Thomas Stafford, the pilot was John Young and the lunar module pilot was Eugene Cernan.

Many incredible things happened during this mission, including Apollo 10 setting the record for the highest speed ever attained (at the time) for a manned vehicle. It was also famous for the call signs given to the service and lunar modules. Ladies and gentleman, say hello to Charlie Brown and Snoopy respectively.

As unofficial mascots, the two inseparable comic strip pals blasted into space at 16:49:00 on 5/18/1969, Charlie Brown in space coveralls and Snoopy in his Flying Ace scarf. When they returned to Earth on May 26, the recovery team from the USS Princeton painted “Hello ‘der Charlie Brown” on the underside of the helicopter.

The relationship between NASA and Charles Schultz, the creator of Peanuts in 1950, began when the space agency asked Schultz to join the mission in hopes of cheering up the country, still saddened by the tragedy of Apollo 1 and the loss of three astronauts in a launch pad fire. Schultz was convinced that the men would one day walk on the moon so he kicked off a week-long series of comics where Snoopy made it his personal mission to be the first beagle on the moon.

He succeeded.

As did the Snoopy lunar module. Abandoned in space it likely crashed onto the moon’s surface. The Charlie Brown service module landed in the Pacific Ocean and is currently on loan at the Science Museum in London where it is proudly displayed.

No word on Snoopy’s famous scarf.

Good grief.

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The kid

by Lorin Michel Tuesday, May 17, 2011 5:14 PM

At 11:27 this morning US Airways Flight 796 lifted from the wet runways of LAX into the rain. It disappeared quickly as it flew through the heavy gray clouds and all that was left was the roar of the next jet, the countless cars jockeying for position, people calling out to loved ones as TSA members shouted instructions and a recorded voice telling us over and over again that the white zone is for immediate loading and unloading of passengers.

Just that fast, Justin was safely on his way to his summer-stock internship at Gateway Playhouse in Bellport, New York on the south shore of Long Island by way of a brief layover in Philadelphia.

We pulled away from the terminal and started our journey home, proud of him, sad to see him go, and excited for the possibilities that await him. It was a true myriad of emotions.

I can only imagine what he must be feeling: anxious to start something new, to learn something new, but apprehensive because he’s never done this before. Never flown off to a job, never worked in a professional theatre, never been paid to do so. He doesn’t know anyone, doesn’t know the area. I’m sure he’s excited as well because of all that he’ll be learning. For two years at the University of Arizona, he has studied the ways of the theatre world. He has worked on productions as a tech, and this year as an electrician and assistant lighting designer. His internship will also be in electricity and lighting.

The playhouse is Long Island’s oldest summer theatre and one of the most respected in the United States. Many careers in theatre, television and film have been launched from their stages. This year they’re building on their 62-year history with plays like Legally Blonde, Spamalot, Sunset Boulevard and Sweeney Todd. The actors are mostly from Broadway, and all professionals, though there is also a school on the premises.

There are seven acres with a Mainstage theatre, Barn theatre, scene shop, two rehearsal studios, three dorm-style housing units (one of which is where Justin will live), a full kitchen, costume shop, design office, paint shop, box office, business office, storage, rec room and even a swimming pool (the first in-ground swimming pool put in on Long Island). The beach isn’t far away and Fire Island is just across the bay via ferry. It’s going to be quite a summer for him, and for us.

So today, we’re celebrating the kid and his future. It’s something to behold.

Live it out loud!

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In which I celebrate one of my least favorite movies

by Lorin Michel Monday, May 16, 2011 10:29 PM

Twenty-five years ago today a movie was released and it became an instant success. Men loved it because it was about men doing manly things, bucking danger, putting themselves in harm’s way and coming out heroes. With hot women in tow. Women liked it because the movie was littered with very hot looking young men, in uniform and out, doing manly things but showing their sensitive side by crying.

I’m speaking of Top Gun, released on May 16, 1986. I saw it when it first came out and can honestly say that I enjoyed it. Of course, I was pretty young myself and was enamored with Tom Cruise. My first husband was doing a lot of traveling at the time and he would go to the theater every night while he was out of town and watch the movie again.

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Come to find out, most men are like that. When Kevin and I got together, our third date was watching Top Gun in his apartment, with ribs and fries delivered by Pizza Man. It was referred to as “Dad’s Airplane Movie” because that’s what Justin called it. Even though I wasn’t a big fan of the film, I was already a big fan of the man who would become my second husband and so we sat and watched. We quoted all of the famous lines. And munched on some of the best bad ribs around.

Top Gun has a very simple premise. A hot shot navy pilot with a chip on his shoulder named Maverick and his Radar Intercept Office (RIO) Goose are given the chance to train at the Navy’s Fighter Weapons School; to be the best of the best. The inspiration for the film was an article by Ehud Yonay in a May 1983 issue of California magazine entitled “Top Guns,” and it profiled actual pilots at the Miramar Naval Air Station in northern San Diego, nicknamed “Fightertown USA.” A former instructor named Randy “Duke” Cunningham was supposedly the inspiration for Pete “Maverick” Mitchell.

The movie, directed by Tony Scott and written by Jim Cash and Jack Epps, Jr., opened on 1,028 theaters and was the highest grossing film of 1986, bringing in $176,786,701 domestically and $177,030,000 internationally for a total of $353,816,701. Enrollment in the Navy went up 500 percent.

It starred Tom Cruise, who was a hot young thing. I loved him in The Firm; in other things I’ve tolerated him. Val Kilmer (“Iceman”) was one of my favorite parts of Tombstone when he played Doc Holiday. Tom Skerritt was a great sheriff in Picket Fences. Anthony Edwards went on to fame as Dr. Greene in E.R. At one point, he, Rick Rossovich and Michael Ironside were all on E.R. at the same time, in either the first or second season. Tim Robbins who had a very minor role is now a fairly big star (loved Bull Durham) as is Meg Ryan, or at least she used to be. Kelly McGillis. Never cared much for her.

The movie itself is trite and clichéd but has great action sequences, and nice bodies. As Roger Ebert said “movies like Top Gun are hard to review because the good parts are so good and the bad parts are so relentless.”

Regardless, Dad’s Airplane Movie continues to be a big hit in this house. I don’t tend to watch it because it really is bad, but every time we find it on cable, Kevin can’t help but pause and watch. I think he feels the need, the need for speed.

Happy Anniversary, Top Gun

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