Shaken and stirred

Sean Connery in Marnie, 1964

Yesterday, as I was leaving The Porch, a restaurant in Schenley Plaza in Oakland, a waiter said goodbye to me. Not just any waiter, but The Waiter, this gorgeous, burly, virile man that I've admired from afar for some time now.

He has waited on me before. Always says hello, always fills my water glass. The perfect gentlemanly waiter/stud.

This time was different, though. He held the door for me as I was leaving. He looked at me and smiled and said, "Sean Connery! Goodbye, Sean Connery!"

Now I'm not under any illusions. I'm pretty sure he wasn't thinking of Dr. No or Goldfinger Sean Connery. I suspect he was thinking more of Red October or The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen Sean Connery.

Sean Connery, 1988; photo by Alan Light

On any other day, I might have been a bit depressed by the thought that I look like a graying, bald, 60+ Sean Connery--especially since I'm only 50+.

But you know what? In 1964 or in 1988, there is no bad Sean Connery.

Thank you, handsome waiter. I would have kissed you on the mouth and followed you home if I wasn't already spoken for.