There aren’t a whole lot of sappy romcoms or stories written with a flare for the sentimental that can get the better of me. In all truth, there aren’t any at all. I’m a fairly cold hearted person, and that’s what makes my love affair with the Ferrari 612 Scaglietti surprising (how can such a man love?!?!) and apropos (figures he’d be in love with a machine).
Indeed, my love for one of Pininfarina’s most recent triumphs extends beyond its beautifully classic exterior; though, its clean curves and scalloped doors are something to behold. My love extends deeper than the all aluminum, hand-crafted chassis. Even when marveling at the amazing 6 speed, V12 engine it is clear that my love for the Scaglietti is not merely the the resulting sum of its astonishing parts…
No, my love is deeper. It reaches back into the automobile’s heritage. Well before the time that the Scaglietti was a twinkle in its engineers’ eyes. Well beyond the time, in fact, that those engineers were a twinkle in their parents’ eyes.
My love reaches back to 1954 when a real life love story played itself out when Roberto Rossellini commissioned Ferrari to build his wife, Ingrid Bergman, a car as beautiful as she was. The artisan coachbuilders in Modena birthed the 375 MM (what would later be the inspiration for much of the Scaglietti’s design) and “Grigio Ingrid,” a special hue of grey meant to compliment Ms. Bergman’s eyes. The color is still listed today as one of Ferrari’s signature finish options.
She hated the car… But that hardly matters. In this sweet fairy tale, the princess is almost unnecessary. Roberto’s admiration birthed art with a ferocious ignition note, and today the Scaglietti stands as a glittering example of love’s beauty and power… And it makes me sigh every time I see one.
Being rather neurotic and a tad obsessive/compulsive, I’ve managed in my lifetime to amass quite a few quirks. Some of these quirks are rather obvious and I’m helpless to hide them from people, like my penchant for only getting one haircut a year when it starts to warm up. Others are pretty discrete and most people would never notice them, like my conscious decision in 2007 to being always type “ok” instead of “okay” because I hated the way the Y looked in most common instant messenger fonts. The latter was a decision arrived at despite several days of inner turmoil regarding the fact that Microsoft Office red squiggles the two-letter spelling.
Whether subtle or radical, however, one thing remains the same: the sheer ridiculousness of the rituals I find myself committing to for absolutely no rational reason whatsoever. In the spirit of humbling myself through public self-deprecation, I’ve decided to list a small sample of my idiosyncrasies.
- I make it a point to use the word “idiosyncrasy” at least once a week. I haven’t missed a week in about a year and a half. I sometimes plan for this days ahead of time in anticipation of specific conversations which I know I can sway in the direction of a satisfying usage.
- If I’m in bed and I wake up with a digital clock in view, I will challenge myself to arithmetically manipulate the digits into a result of 8 (my favorite number… because it’s infinity turned sideways) before I get up.
- I once was told that I used the acronym “LOL” too much and so I resolved to only ever use the word “hehe” during typed expressions of humorous appreciation. This lasted for several years until someone told me I typed “hehe” too much, at which point I decided to alternate usages of “LOL” and “hehe” across conversations. I’ve kept this up for about a year now.
- It took me over a year and a half to find a pair of sweatpants that fit my exacting criteria in all of five separate categories which I had identified and documented in an Excel spreadsheet. The spreadsheet was archived in a special folder of similar decision making aides until I successfully made a purchase.
- I’ve been known to lose my friends at malls when I absent-mindedly stay behind to organize messy store shelves.