A loaf of Bread, a Jug of Wine and an Oscar.
My wife and I travel north to Wine Country every Thanksgiving. She has family in Sonoma, so we drive up (last year we did so in our requisite-California tree-hugging, environ-friendly Prius) and not only to we get to enjoy that great part of the country, but we also get a healthy dose of Nana Kirkpatrick's Broccoli casserole and a rousing game of Pictionary. This is the part of the trip that I SAY that I hate when, in fact, I know pretty much just enjoy the fact that everyone thinks I hate it. Fun for me!
And while we are up there we take it upon ourselves to venture out to some wineries, taste a l'il vino, pretend we know what we are talking about ("2003 was a vintage year for California Cabs, y'know") and buy wine that, to be honest, we could get at Trader Joe's.
But, last fall was a real treat. We had shipped my daughter off to Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire with her cousin, Alissa. It was Liz's first time ever going to a movie without an adult sitting right next to her and she was extremely reluctant at first but wound up having a great time.
Beth and I used that time to head off to a winery that I had been wanting to go to ever since our forays up north began. The Niebaum-Coppola Winery.
Our GPS in the Prius decided the best route was through some treacherous winding road into the mountains. Into an area that I am absolutely sure is either inhabited by grey-bearded, shotgun-toting recluses and their off-the-grid families or the wealthiest of the wealthy who have created their own mystery reclusion.
While we got lost hunting for the estate we ended up at Dean and Deluca, got some brandy flavored vanilla extract, some sandwiches and some sundries that ya just can't get at the Piggly Wiggly.
And then it was off to the Disneyland of Wineries, The Coppola Winery.
Yes, we got some wine. Yes we walked around. Yes, it was crowded. Yes, it was overpriced. And yes, we went upstairs to the Movie Room.
There in the center, taking up a 3rd of the room was a Tucker from the movie of the same name. That was cool. Never saw one in person. Wondered how they got it up there.
There was the red, medieval costume Gary Oldman wore in Dracula.
And there was the cabinet of major awards......
In the mid-80's I was a film student at NYU.
NYU has, sort of, become the farm club for 21st century talent.
Just to name drop a few....
Adam Sandler was a year behind me.
Maura Tierney was in my class.
Richard Shepard (writer/director of The Matador, starring Pierce Brosnan) was my roommate.
Philip Seymour Hoffman was a year or so behind me.
Felicity Huffman was a, I think, a year ahead of me.
Bennett Miller (director of Capote) was a year behind me.
and the list goes on.....including
Roman Coppola.
I have nothing intriguing, scandalous, or even gossip worthy to say about Roman. Except to say that it was a joy to be counted among his friends (or acquaintances) in the era of day-glo. Truth be told, I think Richard was his friend and, since I was a hanger on of Richard's, I got to hang out with some of the more interesting people. Roman was one of the nicest people I have ever met whose family was more famous than I would ever hope to be.
One day, I think it was around 1986, Richard, myself and a few others were hanging around at Roman's apartment in the Sherry-Netherland hotel.
I remember looking up at the bookshelf and just being in awe.
Award after award lined the shelves.
If it was a film shot, imagine a single shot of me, dollying in as my eyes take in the sheer awesomeness of what was before me and imagine that intercut with a panning shot of all these statues and placques.
Oscar. Oscar. Palm D'or.....brilliant.
"Want to hold one?" Roman asked. I guess my tongue was hanging out nearly touching the carpet.
Richard, to his credit, refused, claiming that the only time he would ever want to hold an Oscar would be when he won one. And, if this past year is any indication, this would seem closer to likely than impossible.
However, I make no bones that I didn't think there was much chance of me winning an Oscar (and, so far, my track record is dead on) and, therefore, not much of a chance of clutching one in my sweaty, meaty little hands.
So, Roman reached up to the shelf and handed me the Academy Award for Godfather II.
Heavy. Weighty. Thick. Strong. And a little shaky, but I think this was one of the Oscars that Francis tossed out the window out of frustration during the making of Apocalypse (documented in his wife's book, "Notes".)
I never forgot that moment. It has remained anecdotal fodder for 20 years. How many people get to hold an Oscar? Especially people who have little or no chance of ever holding one in their meaty, sweaty.....you get it.
In the cabinet of awards at the Coppola Winery, behind a thin sheet of glass stood the Academy Award for Godfather II. I could almost touch it, this hunk of metal I had once held in my sweaty.......
I like to imagine that it has never been cleaned, wiped, polished, that it was taken from the Sherry-Netherland Hotel, plopped in a cardboard box and put in this cabinet. That my fingerprints are still somewhere to be found on it.
Whether that's true or not it took 20 years and 3000 miles to see that hunk o'metal again.
We took a picture.
And bought some wine.
And drank it with some bread from Dean and Deluca's.
Then we played Pictionary.
And while we are up there we take it upon ourselves to venture out to some wineries, taste a l'il vino, pretend we know what we are talking about ("2003 was a vintage year for California Cabs, y'know") and buy wine that, to be honest, we could get at Trader Joe's.
But, last fall was a real treat. We had shipped my daughter off to Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire with her cousin, Alissa. It was Liz's first time ever going to a movie without an adult sitting right next to her and she was extremely reluctant at first but wound up having a great time.
Beth and I used that time to head off to a winery that I had been wanting to go to ever since our forays up north began. The Niebaum-Coppola Winery.
Our GPS in the Prius decided the best route was through some treacherous winding road into the mountains. Into an area that I am absolutely sure is either inhabited by grey-bearded, shotgun-toting recluses and their off-the-grid families or the wealthiest of the wealthy who have created their own mystery reclusion.
While we got lost hunting for the estate we ended up at Dean and Deluca, got some brandy flavored vanilla extract, some sandwiches and some sundries that ya just can't get at the Piggly Wiggly.
And then it was off to the Disneyland of Wineries, The Coppola Winery.
Yes, we got some wine. Yes we walked around. Yes, it was crowded. Yes, it was overpriced. And yes, we went upstairs to the Movie Room.
There in the center, taking up a 3rd of the room was a Tucker from the movie of the same name. That was cool. Never saw one in person. Wondered how they got it up there.
There was the red, medieval costume Gary Oldman wore in Dracula.
And there was the cabinet of major awards......
In the mid-80's I was a film student at NYU.
NYU has, sort of, become the farm club for 21st century talent.
Just to name drop a few....
Adam Sandler was a year behind me.
Maura Tierney was in my class.
Richard Shepard (writer/director of The Matador, starring Pierce Brosnan) was my roommate.
Philip Seymour Hoffman was a year or so behind me.
Felicity Huffman was a, I think, a year ahead of me.
Bennett Miller (director of Capote) was a year behind me.
and the list goes on.....including
Roman Coppola.
I have nothing intriguing, scandalous, or even gossip worthy to say about Roman. Except to say that it was a joy to be counted among his friends (or acquaintances) in the era of day-glo. Truth be told, I think Richard was his friend and, since I was a hanger on of Richard's, I got to hang out with some of the more interesting people. Roman was one of the nicest people I have ever met whose family was more famous than I would ever hope to be.
One day, I think it was around 1986, Richard, myself and a few others were hanging around at Roman's apartment in the Sherry-Netherland hotel.
I remember looking up at the bookshelf and just being in awe.
Award after award lined the shelves.
If it was a film shot, imagine a single shot of me, dollying in as my eyes take in the sheer awesomeness of what was before me and imagine that intercut with a panning shot of all these statues and placques.
Oscar. Oscar. Palm D'or.....brilliant.
"Want to hold one?" Roman asked. I guess my tongue was hanging out nearly touching the carpet.
Richard, to his credit, refused, claiming that the only time he would ever want to hold an Oscar would be when he won one. And, if this past year is any indication, this would seem closer to likely than impossible.
However, I make no bones that I didn't think there was much chance of me winning an Oscar (and, so far, my track record is dead on) and, therefore, not much of a chance of clutching one in my sweaty, meaty little hands.
So, Roman reached up to the shelf and handed me the Academy Award for Godfather II.
Heavy. Weighty. Thick. Strong. And a little shaky, but I think this was one of the Oscars that Francis tossed out the window out of frustration during the making of Apocalypse (documented in his wife's book, "Notes".)
I never forgot that moment. It has remained anecdotal fodder for 20 years. How many people get to hold an Oscar? Especially people who have little or no chance of ever holding one in their meaty, sweaty.....you get it.
In the cabinet of awards at the Coppola Winery, behind a thin sheet of glass stood the Academy Award for Godfather II. I could almost touch it, this hunk of metal I had once held in my sweaty.......
I like to imagine that it has never been cleaned, wiped, polished, that it was taken from the Sherry-Netherland Hotel, plopped in a cardboard box and put in this cabinet. That my fingerprints are still somewhere to be found on it.
Whether that's true or not it took 20 years and 3000 miles to see that hunk o'metal again.
We took a picture.
And bought some wine.
And drank it with some bread from Dean and Deluca's.
Then we played Pictionary.
posted by Allen Lulu | 12:52 AM
2 Comments:
Excepting the obvious in that list, this is all news to me. It either shows you how little attention I paid at NYU or how little attention I pay now, I can't decide. What can I say, I often have been and continue to be on my own wavelength . . .
Anyhow, that is a lovely story. The chaotic structure of life is beholden to statistical likelihoods that crop of every once in awhile in this form and you have to marvel at the poetry of it all. That's why some people are convinced that there is a plan, but to me, you meeting the statue is just one of those gorgeous little happenings that gets your mind going and keeps life interesting.
This is a beautiful story. I don't think I really realized you were at NYU with all that fabulousness (and yes, I include you in that).
Is that as synchronicitous as gossiping loudly about Judge Mathis when he's standing right behind me?
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