Well, yesterday was my birthday but today is my partaaaay day. What! What! Yeaaaaaa BOOOOYYYYE! I’m getting all 1990 in this shit!
Okay. That’s over. For now. I can’t promise what will happen later tonight when I’ve had a few. See, tonight I’m meeting some friends for drinks at a bar in Los Feliz called Ye Rustic Inn. Yeah. It’s real. I’ve never been there — I chose it solely based on the name. My hope is that it’s full of yeomen, weathered mercenaries with axes and squires drinking out the days orders from their respective knights . . . and lots of buffalo wings.
In any case, I’m really in no mood to write. In fact, I’m never in a mood to write until I’m 10 minutes into writing. That’s the energy it takes to get these damn things done. That’s for another post. Tonight’s my party and I don’t want a bunch or writing to bog down my day. So let me tell you what happened yesterday . . . because I may not be able to later when I’m swimming in ale as bards sing songs of my glory in battle . . .
For my actual birthday, Megan took me to see a movie, The Election . . . an okay movie. I still think Will Ferrell is a genius. So, who cares?
It was followed by a wonderful dinner at the famous Smoke House . . . this is an old LA tradition — situated across the street from Warner Brothers, it smacks of 60s charm; red leather booths, old time cocktails, no windows. Supposedly George Clooney makes all his deals here. Thats why his production company is called “Smoke House.” Clever Clooney, clever.
Finally, we wrapped up with some cosmic bowling at Pinz — which you know is cool because it has a “Z” at the end of it . . .
The I came home feeling dehydrated and sick because of the 110 degree heat and all that steak I ate.
Before all that funness, I treated myself to a haircut at Rudy’s. My barber was a very large black man named Bruce. Bruce was a pretty cool dude and when all is said and done, he gave me my best LA hair cut to date. Haven’t had one good one here ever. Bruce asked me what I was doing for my birthday and I gave him my honest answer: Movie, dinner, bowling.
Instantly, Bruce asks me, “Where you from?” It was a curious question laced with an accusatory tone. He was digging for something. “Chicago. The midwest.” Bruce’s tone changes. “I thought so.” I was really curious; how did my answer reveal where I grew up?
This isn’t verbatim, but here’s the gist: “Only people form cold weather climates know how to do indoor activities: board games, bowling — you know, shit like that. People who grew up here, they don’t get that shit. It confuses them. They have no idea how to entertain themselves indoors. But, you’re from Chicago, and it can get fucking cold there. So what you gonna do? Hunker down inside and get busy entertaining yourself. I’m from Detroit. I know. Been here 25 years, and only people from the midwest go bowling.”
I thought that was weirdly profound, strangely accurate and still, somehow a little prejudiced? Thanks, Bruce. Thanks for a little Birthday wisdom.