Freixenet Friday: Liza Minnelli!


With this, we end our Freixenet Friday series, but Freixenet continues to make fabulous annual commercials and you can see them all here. We recommend it!

11 comments:

  1. i love when they spell a name wrong.

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  2. Of course, Liza would be involved in this Freixenet madness, I'm just glad you finished with her. On a high note, so to speak.

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  3. I always thought it a pity that her song was all about spelling her first name, when it's really her last that's so problematic...

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    1. Actually, this verse has always been helpful for me. Would that others took it to heart!

      Oh! And that is only half of it
      There's another way
      Fate treats me cruelly.
      How often I remember someone saying
      "There she goes, Lisa Minooli!"
      Or Minoli, or Miniola, or Minili, or Minelie
      So is it a wonder, I very often cry?

      It's M-I-Double N,
      then-E-Double L-I,
      You double up the N, thats nn, not ll
      Then E, double the L, end it with an I,
      That's the way you say Minnelli...
      Liza Minnelli,
      It's Italian,
      Blame it on papa,
      What can I do?

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    2. Yeah, that really trips off the tongue, I need to do a line just reading it.

      BrianB

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    3. You wouldn't be the first one!

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    4. Not like I need an excuse!

      BrianB

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  4. Fantastic - and proof positive that once you start with Freixenet, your place at the Betty Ford Clinic is reserved... Jx

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  5. Since it's the last of these installments, at least for the moment, a quick moment to think of what an impact the brand had when it first washed up Yankee stores, or at least into Pennyslvania liquor stores. the State Stores, as we had then (and I suppose still do?) were pretty dreadful, and the sparkling choices available in the student price range tended toward sweet, sweeter, and New York State (the products of which at that time were basically Sprite with an evil kick).

    All of a sudden we were magically aware of this exotic, matte black bottle that, if you looked around, could be found for even less than the upstate atrocities and tasted a great deal less like rust-stripper. Mimosas bloomed on summer Sundays, New Year's Eves became bacchanalia, and we were set well on the road toward even better stuff. Now that I'm a devotee, when the pocketbook allows, of Veuve Cliquot, I'm not ashamed to admit that some events still call for a festive bottle or four of Freixenet... even if I'm still not quite sure how to pronounce it.

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    1. Well said, my dear friend. I couldn't have put it better! Cheers!

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