Ok, my first review vanished into cyberspace; just where it belonged.
This peice was too smooth, too slick, too confusing. It had obvious appeal: it was chummy and glossy--Mr. Nice Guy in his moment in the sun. But bantering on the sidewalks of Seattle with Robert Redford types and dreaming of heiresses at the polo club does not give me much incentive to listen more. It's like the car: a throwaway. It just happens to be an expensive throwaway...but in the end, a Jaguar and a Chevy Sprint end up in the same recycling bin. This peice didn't need any help, but I worried about Mr. Nice guy. He should tell us about his winter beater sometime. I can relate to that.