California Nightmares

When I first laid eyes on the new Ferrari California, I was in my "newsroom," which is essentially a dark corner of the kitchen where I plug in my Mac laptop and attempt to put two words together while not at the office.   I was in the middle of a great, long draught of crisp lemon Perrier when my car blog of choice loaded and Fezza's wildly controversial creation came up on the screen.  Immediately, the citric fluid did an unceremonious 180 in my esophagus and came out backwards in a grand homage to Danny Thomas.  After wiping away the droplets of carbonated beverage from my screen, I was able to study the California with a little more serenity. "It just does not make you willing to go to jail for spending 5 illegal minutes driving it." It's not ugly.  But it's not drop-dead gorgeous.  It just does not make you willing to go to jail for spending 5 illegal minutes driving it.  The cross-eyed headlamps speak <$30k Japanese convertible rather than $100k> Italian hot roadster.  The rear end is taller than the Burj Dubai.  The little "retro nods" to the Ferris Bueller-era California seem a bit cocked-up and forced.  And no matter how Ferrari labels it, it will always be the "starter kit" Ferrari, the poor man's Ferrari.  The Ferrari for fat blokes who can't afford an F430. It all seems a rather daft attempt on Ferrari's part.  Why did they lower the bar at such a high point in their company's history? It almost seems (God help us) that Ferrari is turning all Porsche-ish and attempting to widen their model range to a size that reeks of ubiquity. Is Ferrari turning all greedy?  Are they compromising the brand for the sake of sales?  If so, the doomsday clock just sped up. My brain was over-stewing, so I decided to stop pacing about the room casting keen glances at the picture of the car and go out to get an outsider's opinion.  I headed down to my local barber shop of choice run by a full-blooded chap of Umbrian heritage (by way of New Jersey) named Berno.  Berno's barber shop was unique in these parts, as it is one of the dying breed of true, authentic, shave-and-a-haircut barber shops.  At Berno's, a man can sit around flipping through Road&Track and talk sports, cars, food, and occasionally politics with the other patrons.  At Berno's, you won't find a "stylist" named "Marcus" with his shirt unbuttoned more than necessary. You would never find stacks of Cosmo or Redbook at Berno's. Instead, you will find stacks of meaty pasta cooked by Berno's wife that is free to any patron who wishes to die and go to Italian cuisine heaven. Berno made a pinched face at the picture of the California.  Then he made a classic Italian dubious shrug.  I could tell right off the bat that it far from a moment of bellissimo! That's pretty much the mark of death for a Ferrari: a cool, hesitant reaction. "Awh, man, It loohks like my bruthah's Lexus!" says Berno. At that moment, a ton of other Jersey expats in the shop stood up and demanded a look at the new Ferrari. "AAAOOOWWWHHH!" "It ain't too bad." "Looks like a *beep*in Mazda!" "Whot are you tawlkin' about? That's one hot *beep*in cah…." A heated argument followed which nearly turned into a curb-stomping festival had it not been for my timely changing of the subject.  I was beginning to hate this bloody new Ferrari: it's way too polarizing. This got me thinking.  (Oh God, no…) Scientists say that a symmetrical face is a beautiful face.  Well-balanced proportions are the key; people find balance pleasant to look at.  Therefore, there must be a subtle yet universal standard for beauty.  Beauty is not in the eye of the beholder.  I believe from the bottom of my heart that there is a universal standard of beauty in car design.  There are some cars out there that nobody will denounce as "ugly."  Aston Martin, for example, has never been in the same sentence as "ugly."  Classic, old Ferraris and Alfa Romeos are also globally accepted as works of art of the highest calibre.  Likewise, there are cars which are so ugly they have single-handedly created their own class of curse words.  Many fugly cars include: the Pontiac Aztek, the AMC Gremlin, the Maserati BiTurbo, the first-generation Fiat Multipla, various rivet buckets built by British Leyland unionists in the 70's, and all vehicles made by Ssangyong.  The bottom line is (1) there are beautiful cars, and (2) there are cars that should only be allowed on the street after they have been carefully wrapped in brown paper. "I believe from the bottom of my heart that there is a universal standard of beauty in car design." The Ferrari California is far from the latter, but it is not at all the former.  It seems to have been stricken by Ferrari's current dark valley of exterior design.  Mired in their technological brainstews, Ferrari's deft skill at creating sexually exciting modes of transport has been, well… lost.  They have sold their soul to the devils of dedicated science and precision engineering, a demon which had previously only possessed the minds of German mechanics.  The California could have been a 2+2 sport coupe that blew its sisters, the Alfa Romeo 8C and the Maserati GranTurismo, out of the water.  Instead, connoisseurs and historians are more likely to remember the 8C as the piece de resistance of Fiat Group's 2008-2010 V8 grand tourer generation.  How sad it is for a Ferrari to be forgotten in such a way. As with most of my personal problems, I sought solace in the completely unsympathetic arms of my respectable Editor.  The old chap had sunk into his leather executive chair, contently chewing a Starburst and flipping through some technical data fresh off the skidpad for the new Mitsubishi Evo. "I hate Mitsubishis," I says. "What's wrong now?" says the Editor. In a style strangely similar to going to confession, I poured out my crisis of faith in Ferrari. My editor nodded his head, and began to chew his Starbursts faster, and without as much relish.  When I had finished, he said on sentence: "When we get one, you're driving it." I stood up and left the room, leaving my editor in a fit of chuckling and choking of Starbursts. If he was not my boss, I would- oh, never mind.