The question comes up, recurringly,
among white males of my generation,
the one before most of them living:
once in the boat, how does one dis-
embark, gracefully? The rowing mode
teems with many compacted anticipa-
tions of a timely release, which is
to say, the elevation of one's oar,
on completing the honorable stroke.
In those days, at the same time, it
was not expected that the tastes we
assimilated would expire in travest-
ies, much less in our own time. The
275 GTS, for example, proclaimed no
special urgency to reject elegance,
in favor of provocative aggression.
Yet such was the new world model of-
fered to us, as if any of our lives
had presented that specification to
Pininfarina, or to any other of the
founts where our imagination was re-
freshed, perfectly, in those dreams
from the boat. Even then, we didn't
go crying to false Conservatism for
dire vengeance against the current.
Nowadays, that avenger comes to us;
and proposes to lie with the lambs,
but manages only a transitive case.
Suppose it were Friday, someone ur-
ges; put on a pretty record, wiser
voices call. Just as we thought we
were rowing, the blade still sharp
with its own command, Finish this.
Ferrari 275 GTS