Stuff About Stuffing

I went home to Irvine today, as I always do on Thanksgiving. By the time I get home, items are already being shoved into and pulled out of the oven, snacks have already been prepared, and my father is openly questioning how long he has to wait before commencing with cocktail hour. (Final verdict? 4 p.m.)

My mother refers to the hosting of the Thanksgiving meal as "entertaining," as if the neighbors, the police chief and my dad's old army buddy are dropping by at any time. In fact, it will be a tightly-knit group this year, consisting of my parents, myself, my brother Jon, his girlfriend Paula, my grandparents Sally and Bill, and my uncle's girlfriend's son, Kyle.

We spend the majority of the night watching and discussing "Curb Your Enthusiasm." I don't know if any of you saw this week's "Curb," in which Larry must pretend to be an Orthodox Jew in order to convince the head of the Kidney Consortium to move his friend Richard Lewis up the donor list. It was a hilarious episode that thankfully was this evening at 6, giving us all a chance to watch.

Also, it's my birthday on Saturday, so we did the family version of the birthday celebration. I got a cool book from my brother on the history of scientific inquiry into the origin of life on Earth. Other than that, I got money. Some of the money was earmarked for me to sign up for Sirius Satellite Radio, so I can hear Howard Stern's broadcasts starting January 9th.

A few observations:

• Money is the ultimate birthday gift. You can't return it. It's easy to wrap. And it's not something you'll never use and then feel guiltty about never using, because someone took the time to pick it out and buy it for you.
• The new $50 bill, with the off-purple trim, is realy gay. Gayer than European money, even.
• Every time my family members give me money on a special occasion, they make a big thing about putting it in my wallet immediately rather than my pocket. I keep valuables in my pocket all the time. In fact, my wallet itself is just going into a pocket anyway. So what's the big deal?

After a delicious turkey dinner, replete with two kinds of sweet potatoes, my grandfather's trademark savory stuffing and homemade pumpkin pie, I said my goodbyes, packed up my leftovers and headed out to Cypress.

My friends Dave and Matt are in town for the holiday from Santa Cruz and Brooklyn, respectively, so I wanted to swing by their house for a visit. To get there, you exit the 405 at Seal Beach Boulevard and turn right. Unfortunately, Dave tells me on the phone to turn left. I pass Leisure World, the old-folks community, which I have never passed before to my knowledge. This was my first clue that something was wrong.

My second clue came when I entered a strange residential neighborhood I'd never been to before, and all signs of Seal Beach Boulevard disappeared into the foggy night. I was lost. And not that, "Oh dang I'm lost" kind of lost, where you know as soon as you make one crucial turn you'll be back on a familiar straightaway. The kind of lost where you just know, without some outside assistance, you will be driving around in circles for the next two sessions of Congress. I'd have had an easier time finding the Well of Souls than the way back towards Dave's house.

I swallow my pride and call for help, and Dave over the phone gets me back on track. Only after driving for a few moments do I realize just how far off the proper route I had gone. I was practically back in Irvine, for crissakes. I really need one of them GPS systems, preferably one that sounds like Mr. T.

I finally arrive at Dave and Matt's just as everyone is getting ready to leave for a bar. Apparently, near Cal State Long Beach, a number of dive-y kind of bars remain open on Thanksgiving. So we head out to a place called, I believe, 3636, with a number of Dave and Matt's high school friends in tow.

The first thing I notice about 3636 is its horrible jukebox. The thing claims to be connected live to the Internet, and able to download songs upon request. The only problem is, most good songs from any listed artist aren't available on the jukebox at all, and the ones that are available cost $2. It's the first jukebox I've ever used that actively begged for money once you're trying to select songs.

SELECT ARTIST:

Neil Young

SELECT SONG -> OPTIONS: "CINAMMON GIRL" or "ARE YOU PASSIONATE" or "LOOK UP OTHER SONGS"

Look up other songs

PLEASE INSERT $3

What?

PLEASE INSERT $3

Okay, I guess...

[Lons inserts $3]

SELECT ARTIST

Neil Young

SELECT SONG -> OPTION: "CINAMMON GIRL"

Download: "Cowgirl in the Sand"

PLEASE INSERT $400,000 AND WAIT 2 HOURS

It went on and on like that.

The second thing I noticed about 3636...There's nowhere to stand without blocking the people playing pool. There are these two pool tables, but they back up right into the only area available for standing around drinking beer, kind of a crucial area in a crowded dive bar. So every time someone wants to hit the cue ball from that side of the room, everyone has to shift around where they're standing to accomodate. It becomes like a tavern-sized game of Musical Chairs, almost like that orgy scene from Eyes Wide Shut but without the costumes or sex.

That was about all I noticed about 3636, because I became involved with the jukebox, as well as drinking and a pinball game based on "The Sopranos." Not neccessarily in that order. Dave's girlfriend Sandra and I, after giving up on finding quality music on the jukebox, tried to get into a game of pool, but wound up at the tail end of a long line that included a lot of colorful local types. So, after a lot of shifting my wait to avoid fast-moving pool cues, I made my way back to the Lau's house and then home.

During my drive home, an incredibly thick fog settled into the Greater Los Angeles Area. I don't know that I've ever seen fog this heavy in all my years living in LA. Visibility was singificantly low on the 405, and the effect was only worsened by the lack of other cars and the lack of excess light coming from the darkened buildings along the road. (It was, after all, Thanksgiving Eve, and everyone was presumably home sleeping off their tryptophan.)

At around Torrance, I half debated pulling my car to the shoulder and waiting for the fog to clear. It genuinely seemed unsafe to drive in those conditions. But it was late, and I was tired, and I have leftover stuffing in the trunk of my car defrosting by the moment, so I simply forged ahead. By Culver City, the fog lifted and I was able to see again. But it was precarious there for a moment...I nearly didn't survive to see my actual birthday (which, did I mention, is this upcoming Saturday)?