four seasonal birthday luau @ LAX with Vaness
The following Sunday, Nazy and I joined friends at Rincon Beach - which, placed a few miles south of Santa Barbara, was conveniently located next to The 101. The highway was tastefully decorated with (traffic)-jammed cars. We enjoyed a luau and had a good time with friends.
Then, on Monday, Shahrzad, Nazy’s sister, flew in to ..
“… LAX?” I asked. “The LAX in Los Angeles?”
“Dan that’s..”
“ that’s an airport lurking behind The 101 and The 405. You know that The 405, which is wider than the main runway at LAX, will be filled with cars.”
“And trucks.”
Astonishingly, traffic was reasonably light. We got to the airport entrance and merely had to maneuver to Terminal 6, a paltry three quarters of a mile drive. Naturally, it took three quarters of an hour to traverse that final s t r e t c h.
“I just love LAX,” I thought as we walked from the parking lot to the terminal.
“Welcome to Los Angeles International Airport — where we are building a world class aviation services facility,” a loud speaker ironically boomed as we waited to cross the 9 lanes of traffic from the parking lot to the terminal building.
“Aspirational goal,” I thought.
We drove home via the Pacific Coast Highway; slower but far more scenic.
Back home, we had multiple discussions with a handyman who made several unfruitful attempts to install a garage door opener.
“I don’t understand the problem, Nazy.” I said. “I can lift the garage door manually, so why can’t half of a horse handle it?”
It turned out that the horse, or, more accurately, the ½ of a horse (power) machine, was halted by a faulty warning sensor. The one manpower option, it turned out, wasn’t completely able to ‘handle it’.
“How did you get that cut on your head?” Nazy asked.
“I fell off my half horse,” I replied.
Here in Santa Barbara, Shahrzad enjoyed some time with Tiger, Arrow and Azelle. We took the boys to the beach to play. We had another celebration here at our home. It turns out that not only Shahrzad’s birthday is very close to mine, but a good friend also has a birthday very close to mine. (In the latter case, ‘very close’ means ‘exactly the same’.) Naturally, Nazy and Shahrzad arranged a great party.
Nazy and Shahrzad drove all over town getting the ingredients and then spent the day getting ready. The dinner included delightful filet mignon and, of course, a birthday cake (which I shared with Shahrzad and Christine). There were candles everywhere: on the chandelier, on the dining room table, on the counters, on the buffet, in the bathroom..
“In the bathroom?” You ask.
“Don’t forget to blow out the candles in the bathroom,” Nazy reminded after everyone had left.
Shahrzad, party-ed out, flew home at the end of the week. We drove to LAX via the Pacific Coast Highway, meeting gridlock only when we turned into the airport proper. After dropping Shahrzad off, Nazy and I headed to Beverly Hills. Melika had arranged several celebratory events.
We began at The Ivy in West Hollywood.
This venue is a great place for paparazzi and celebrity stalking. Luckily, no one had leaked the news about our reservation, so we were unrecognized.
“Unrecognized, except by the restaurant staff, Nazy,” I said. “They treated me like a star.”
“Especially when they brought the birthday treat, Dan.” Nazy concurred.
“The ‘candle’ was very impressive. It looked like a Minuteman Missile firing out of silo embedded in ice cream.”
“I love your metaphors. Dan.” Nazy replied. “Minuteman Missile?” Nazy thought.
After lunch, and a shopping stroll along Robertson Boulevard, we drove to and checked in at The Four Seasons, Los Angeles at Beverly Hills. It is a wonderful hotel — with a Hollywood/Beverly Hills touch. We had a great room. That evening, Melika had arranged dinner at Cecconis in West Hollywood.
We booked the ‘House Car’, a Rolls Royce, for the short trip to the restaurant. On the way, Nazy made friends with the driver (who was taking his son, without the Rolls, to Disneyland the next day.
As is usually the case when I go to dinner with Nazy, who likes to chat, we met the people who were dining nearby…
“… Yes, this is a great place to meet and see people,” the guy, named Rocky, who was sitting next to us, commented. “In fact, that’s Vanessa Williams sitting behind your husband.”
“Wow!” Nazy replied. “Who is Vanessa Williams?” Nazy thought as she took photos of me with Vanessa in the background.
We met a couple from Hollywood (the guy had hurt his hand playing tennis), a couple visiting from Toronto, and two friends visiting from Sweden. Rocky, it turns out, is the Rocky LeFleur of the Pacific Design Center. He is known as “The Yenta of Design”.
The food lived up to the reputation: I had lobster spaghetti and Nazy had branzino.
We drove home the next morning, looking forward to a week with Tiger, Arrow and Azelle. Melika and Tom were heading to Munich to celebrate Oktoberfest.
For last week's letter, please click here
Dan and Vanessa
From our hotel