Judging by the deluge of birthday parties, I’d assume a ton of babies are born around this time of year. Now it all makes sense: Didn’t Halloween start off as a satanic ritual where witches would sacrifice newborn infants? Why not pick a date when there’s a bunch of them around? Granted, witches were hideous, broom-flying, devil worshippers; but that doesn’t mean they weren’t practical…
WITCH CEO: According to this graph measuring baby production, the numbers peak on October 31.
WITCH CHAIRMAN: Perfect, we’ll schedule the event for 12 AM sharp. What’s next on the agenda?
WITCH VP: The marketing department was wondering what the theme is for this year’s demon orgy?
WITCH CHAIRMAN: We’ve covered this already. You said the Polynesian theme tested favorably with the focus groups.
WITCH VP: Ah yes, “The Luau of Depravity.”
Tonight was Steve’s birthday at the Foundation Room in House of Blues. People have been throwing parties there for years, but this was the first time I’ve been.
The main reason was because it’s on Sunset, and I hate Sunset clubs. There’s always traffic, outside and inside. Paying $15 for valet parking tends to fracture my already fragile faith in mankind. And the wannabe actors who cram those places are taller than fuck (Don’t those people realize that Hollywood only casts midgets like Dustin Hoffman and Tom Cruise? Brad Pitt’s like - what - 4’10” correct?).
I’m not short (6’1”), but I feel like a hobbit at those joints. Perhaps that’s the real reason why I mostly party with Asian people. Having a height advantage has so many, well, advantages. For one thing, it’s a lot easier to spot friends in a crowded room. Secondly, when I’m feeling blue, I like to comfort myself by thinking they’re all my children. And when your arms are tired, you can rest your cocktails on their heads.
But back to the birthday boy. Steve’s one of those people who knows about a third of the world’s population. I’m sure you all know someone like that, and it’s because you all know Steve. In fact I believe that’s what he does for a living…
ROY THE PHARMACIST: Hi, I’m Roy, and I’m a pharmacist.
STEVE: Hi, I’m Steve, and I know a shitload of people. In fact, I’ve already met you before and I have your email address, home phone number, and parents’ anniversary date.
For instance, I was having lunch with the guy in Hong Kong last year, and in the middle of the meal he got a phone call from potential business partners in fricking Turkey. They’d invented some wacky gadget he wanted to manufacture in southern China and then sell through a company in northern California. Quite a character, that guy. And to think, he could’ve been sacrificed by witches.
M, today’s birthday girl, is someone I’ve known for a while. But I haven’t seen much of her this year, since she’s been doing plays nonstop to get her acting career on track.
The dinner/party was over at Hollywood Canteen. I’d eaten lunch there four years ago, because it was the only restaurant near the soundstage where we were shooting some commercial informing the youth of America that pot is bad, mmmkay?
The place was tiny and old. So old that it used to be one of those dining establishments from the Golden Age of Film – one could imagine Clark Gable and Humphrey Bogart sitting in a corner booth with their dry martinis, carving little statues out of meatloaf.
Well somebody went and transformed the joint into a mini supper club. The food, quite good. The waitresses, very cool. The bartender, fricking hot.
Unfortunately I ended up missing the miraculous comeback of Game 6 of the World Series. If you think about it, there’s no way God would allow the evil Giants, with that surly bastard Barry Bonds, to win. So I made sure I would not miss Game 7 the following day…
Oh hell yes.
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