International Jewel Thief

Darin and I have decided that this is the perfect job. You get to be dashing and criminal. "Thousands of dollars in bearer bonds? No thanks. Have any jewels?" And people aren't scared of you; they'd rather hear your stories, or perhaps train with you.

I had lunch with David Filippi today. I think you can read about it on his page, but I'm not sure I can tell you where his page is yet. It's very strange meeting someone for lunch for the first time and you're already supposed to know something about him.

In fact, I sounded something like an idiot, because I didn't know that Dave had started his journal again. Duh. He started it again in June, so I have a month and a half to catch up on. Let's put it this way: if I'd known about the recent journal, I would have known his girlfriend was named Rainbow and not been surprised by that information.

It was good to go to Cafe N'awlins again -- it's on San Fernando Road at Olive in beautiful downtown Burbank (which is, in case I haven't told you, actually beautiful these days). Cafe N'awlins is good eatin'. Especially good is the chocolate silk pie, which is homemade and totally excellent. I brought shrimp etoufee and potato pecan pie home for Darin; he chowed down most excellently as well.

I was supposed to go to an Academy dinner tonight, courtesy of Allison, who is town this weekend because of Adam's job. She had an internship with the Academy of TV Arts & Sciences Music Dept. right after graduating from Stanford.

After Cafe N'awlins, I had to admit that going out a mere 3 or 4 hours later to a buffet did not sound as appetizing as it might otherwise have.

Allison called me right after I got back from lunch and said we were still on for the dinner, but that she'd had to take some allergy medication and so was a little woozy. I had to admit that the idea of an out for the evening's festivities sounded appealing.

I said, "Hey, if you don't want to go, that's fine, I'll save up my food points for tomorrow night." (Darin and I are having dinner with Allison and Tiffany and their respective mates tomorrow night.)

She said no, she wanted to go, but she'd call me if anything changed.

The only thing I was good for was lying down on the bed. I kept listening to NPR, and right after President Clinton showed up with the clock that had geometric shapes, the phone rang. I quickly concluded I had fallen asleep, or that President Clinton had extremely poor taste in clocks.

It was Allison. She was bagging on the buffet, but I could still go if I wanted to.

I didn't.

I realize I have forgotten to mention that Darin, Fernando, Nancy, and I went to dinner at Arnie Morton's of Chicago the other night. Now, this is not LA's infamous Morton's, home to the stars and restaurant creation of Arnie Morton's son (who also started the Hard Rock Cafe). That Morton's we could not get in to with anything less than 3 months notice and an Oscar, and even then it's dicey.

Arnie Morton's is home of the big meat. I ordered the porterhouse steak, the house specialty. I was so hungry I wanted to order the double porterhouse, but rationality reigned, which was good, because I only ate half of my dinner anyhow.

Arnie Morton's is good and filling: big everything. Big potatoes. Big plates of mushrooms. Highly recommended, and there were few other diners. Maybe we just went early. This may be a late-eating town, but we don't get out much to the fashionable side of LA, so we weren't sure.

I ordered a glass of wine and Fernando and Nancy each ordered a cocktail. Darin doesn't drink, usually, and besides which, he was driving. Anyhow, something I realized was that most of the people I know don't have cocktails -- they drink wine and beer, or tequila, or margaritas, all of which are college drinks. But they don't usually drink martinis.

Well...This is not precisely true: the gay guys I used to hang out with 10 years ago always drank cocktails. I once got royally smashed on Cosmopolitans (which are making a comeback, I hear). Is it a party thing? A bar thing?

International jewel thieves probably drink martinis. Or gimlets, at least.