The best weekend in recent
The best weekend in recent memory started out awfully.
Last Friday, in preparation for the uber-boss's trip into Los Angeles for the premier of The Man From Elysian Fields, his Land Rover had to be moved from the airport where they park his private jet to his beach-front condo. (Rough life, this guy's got.) This relocation project called for me to follow my boss to the airport where she got the Land Rover, follow her to the condo where she brought the Land Rover, then drive her back to the airport where she had parked her car. All of this would have been well and good had we not started the expedition forty-five minutes before the end of my work day. My boss later told me she had forgotten that traffic at rush hour is worse than traffic at other times. Even though we arrived back at the airport only twenty-five minutes past the time I should have been off work, the airport is about a half hour farther from home than the office is, all of which put me home more than an hour later than I would otherwise have gotten there. And so Stacey and I missed the Firefly premier party we had been planning to go to. I was extremely irritated, and still have not seen Firefly.
Happily, the evening was salvaged. We went to the Arclight, the best theater in all of Southern California, and saw the enjoyable Igby Goes Down, which you might also like to go see, considering the fine performances throughout.
On Saturday, Stacey went to the L.A. County Fair with a friend from Skadden and her three-year-old and boyfriend. I stayed at home and wrote, and it was beyond wonderful. The words flowed, the story made sense (for the first time in a week or more), and I took two breaks to watch episodes of Junkyard Wars. Only those of you with full time jobs who never have more than an hour and a half (on a good evening!) to write will understand the pure joy that comes from being able to write uninterrupted for five hours. When Stacey returned home in the late afternoon we shopped for food, made tacos, and rented The Talented Mr. Ripley, which turned out to be a film of surprising complexity and quality, if not quite brilliance.
On Sunday, we stayed at home for most of the day and did the kinds of things that keep your life sane during the rest of the week: cleaning up, doing laundry, and the like. I paid bills and loved it, because paying bills nourishes my inner anal retentive. At dinnertime, we met the other members of our gourmet club at El Cid, a Spanish restaurant where there was live flamenco dancing. It was excellent and entertaining, and Stacey agreed that if Peter Hentges were there, he would have loved it. Flamenco dancing looks pretty hard, so, following the logic that things which look easy are actually pretty hard, Flamenco dancing must be really, really hard. However, it is also possible that my perspective was slightly altered by Senor Margarita, Mr. Irish Coffee, and their friends.
As I said, the best weekend in recent memory.
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