The first 'guy' I remember really noticing (my first grade 'boyfriend' didn't really count after all...) was a very dapper young Englishman who attended the same parish we did from when I was about 12 to 14 or so years of age. I think his name was Frederick. He was small, maybe 5'6"* with longish brown hair, tidy sideburns and he always wore nice pants - cords - a button down shirt and a sport jacket. True, I always saw him at mass so he was dressed up. I'm sure he was a grad student. Parish members who wished to took turns reading the scripture that the priest had selected for the mass and Frederick often read. Mom and I were both secretly in love with his British accent and his friendly but reserved manner. We never saw him outside of church. I don't remember him taking part in after-mass white powder donuts and coffee in the parish basement.
Our parish was the U of O campus Newman Center. We had a very hip pastor who wore Hawaiian shirts and sandals under his vestments and always had a dog named for a saint. Genevieve and Jeremiah, successively, were the ones in residence when we knew him. The church was usually full to standing room, so the back doors were open in good weather (there was a huge overhanging porch of sorts so even if it rained it wasn' t too bad) and if a neighborhood cat came in it was allowed to stay or leave as it pleased. The room was very modern; cedar shake covered walls angled inwards making a trapezoidal space, hung with banners for each liturgical season; the stations of the cross were wood relief carvings in an expressionist style and the altar was a simple but beautiful slab of natural stone. The chalis and other serving pieces for the mass were hand-thrown pottery. Simple, elegant and spare. The only detracting feature were the plain metal folding chairs in place of wooden pews.
We never saw Frederick drive away but we figured he must have a cool car. Mom had only recently traded in and was missing the Dark Green 1966 Ford Galaxie 500XL (two enormous doors and a huge 428 cubic inch engine that had you going scary fast before you even realized it) on a Blue Pinto Station wagon with faux woodgrain sides. It was the 70's and the first oil crisis and the Galaxie drank too much and went through mufflers at an alarming rate, so the Pinto was a necessity. There were a number of old MGs on the road in Eugene in those days and we figured one of them had to be Frederick's, even if we never actually saw him behind the wheel. Realistically, he probably was a grad student and too poor to own a car. Or maybe he had a beater VW. Or a Chevy. We never found out.
So therein lie the foundations of what has come to represent the perfect man for me. A cool accent, preferably British, and a cool car. True, a lot of years have passed since the Frederick infatuation, but channel flipping through my new cable selections landed me accidentally on BBC America on a Monday night and I encountered Top Gear for the first time. A car show for those who don't really get off on car shows strictly speaking (they play soccer with teams of Toyota Aygos and VW Foxes!) with three distinctly different but Funny Regular Bloke journalist/presenters: Jeremy Clarkson big and imposing, very opinionated and the ringleader; Richard Hammond a.k.a. "Hamster", almost too precious and cute - all 5'6'' of him with carefully gelled hair and very white teeth (you'd think he'd be the one I'd fall for). But no. The latest object of my fangirly affection is none other than James May, known as "Captain Slow" for his penchant for big luxurious cars, finding the most esoteric solution to any problem at hand and getting lost. Except that he's the one who drove the Bugatti Veyron at 250 MPH - go figure.
He's the only bachelor of the three (he's got a long time girlfriend) who lives with his cat,
Fusker, and a lot of cool cars and motorbikes; uses a Mac and a fountain pen; has a degree in music, messy long hair and a small plane license; does a wine show when he's not doing Top Gear; writes an entertaining weekly column in the Telegraph - online- and is overall
inexplicably cool while being a complete OCD nerd at the same time. That and he doesn't like VW Beetles. I can overlook that minor flaw. He's - perfect!
I stumbled upon his
booking agency while I was scouting eBay UK for collectables that our eBay might not have. Found lots of "Mrs. James May" key rings and pillow cases, evidently he's the latest British Thinking Woman's Secret Crush.
I really wanted to find a good shot of him in one of his loud rugby striped sweaters, the pink and purple one is especially choice, but this picture with his Boxter S** is just, well,
look...
**& an Edit. After finally locating a full size version of the cropped image above (cropped for the best part, of course) that ain't no Boxter S but a 911 997 Carerra S.
Hmmm... Oregon has a thriving and fairly exclusive wine industry. Perhaps I could entice him to come scout the Yamhill Valley wineries for a future installment of his wine program? I'm already envisioning picking him up at the airport in my Cyber Green Turbo GLX New Beetle. We'll head out 99 West to taste Pinot Noir and keep going to the coast. Hwy 18 has the Van Duzer Forest Corridor - beautiful on a moonlit night - or Hwy 6 follows the Wilson River and is a fun curvy road. Maybe I'd even let him drive...
*Not a bad thing. The world could use more handsome men in the 5'6" or so range.
