6 01 pm pst [ party ]
The roses I got on
my birthday have opened into full luscious blooms. I won't have much
more time to appreciate them because I will be spending the rest of this
week food packing. And of course I
will be exhausted, since I stayed out too late last night.
Charles
invited me to be his date at his company Christmas party, warning me that
he would be poor company because he had to play jazz and rock all night.
I accepted.
The party was at chichi Wolfgang Puck restaurant
Granita in Malibu. I arrived as Charles was finishing his opening jazz
set. I had stopped home after work to change into a dressy but
conservative outfit.
Wolfgang Puck does a high showing of California
cuisine. The spread was lavish and the bar was open. The turnout had
obviously been much greater than expected, as evidenced by the lack of
tables available for dining at.
I consumed an absurd amount of Granita's famous flat
bread. My bar selections were a margarita on the rocks (no salt), a
kamakazi, and a screwdriver, all of which I left unfinished because they
were made much too strong for my tastes.
My culinary find of the evening was "beets with beluga
lentils and warm goat cheese." I kept fetching the wait staff to make
them explain what various dishes were. I picked around the chunks of goat cheese
and ate copious amounts of lentils. before last night I had disliked
beets, and I am proud of myself for being brave enough to try them because
the dish was delicious.
Charles had a short break between sets and while
copying the lyrics to his latest musical creation onto paper he requested
I fetch him some "beast." Actually, there wasn't very much meat
available, so I made a sort of sampler plate of everything I could pile
on. The only thing I didn't think he'd like was the stinky cheese, but I
had to put it on the plate because it amused me so (actually, I chuckled
to myself the whole time I was gathering his food). When I explained that
to him he exclaimed, "I love stinky cheese!" and gobbled it up.
My first companion was some company member's wife. I
do so wish I remembered her name for she was quite lovely. She told me
about her children, about living in Venice in her youth, and about her
current project: setting up the largest charter school in California.
My next companion was Bill, who proudly declared
himself out of place. He told me he was a construction worker. We talked
for the greater protion of the evening. He told me about his bitter
divorce, how the floors in the restaurant were constructed by slicing
marble with high powered jets of water, and why he no longer likes
dancing. I gave him my phone number and vaguely wondered if his
girlfriend would find it in his pocket and a fight would ensue like a
scene in so many movies.
Charles' debut of Shake, which I have heard in
two incarnations already, was a smashing success. Lastly, I danced with
Oscar Peterson, whom I later learned was the nephew (and name sake) of
the great jazz pianist. I was there until Charles meeked out his
last song, voice scratchy from overuse and the flu virus. Good thing he quit smoking.
The evening concluded with a brief jaunt to Malibu Beach Inn
where I quickly became anti-social because I was tired. I excused myself
and headed home after a short while.
Now I'm off to do some volunteer work...
