Bachelor Party Pt. II
Not unlike The Hangover, a bachelor party so off the hook there had to be a sequel. Only this one didn't suck.
As I posted in yesterday's blog, I'm over the whole bachelor party thing. There is an expectation to adhere to a cliched rite of passage to see naked girls and do the whole "last night of freedom" thing, which strikes me as silly. Especially this late in the game. If I want to see a hot naked girl, I'll just tell Justine to take her clothes off. And if I'm leaving my castle high in the hills these days, there better be a pretty damned good reason. Exercise. A handful of friends. Or meat.
So let's go to the Meatloaf.
Just about every friend I have these days came to dinner at Espetus last night. Certainly the ones from the Bay Area (notable exceptions being Tom Pitts, who has so little time to himself these days he had to use what little was afforded to buy new shoes to be in the wedding party; Dan Jewett, who is vacationing somewhere very cold, if his Facebook pictures are to be trusted; and Adam, my young personal trainer/lifestyle coach, who probably had another car towed).
Then there was Rich. And Jarret. And Big Tom and my brother, Josh, and Matt Rosoff, and Noah and Idan, and then there was
And also my buddy from grad school, Simon, showed up, which was particularly touching, since we haven't seen much of each other in recent months but he'd always been one of my favorite people. Not entirely sure why we haven't seen each other. We both had kids. I think the bigger reason is I moved to El Cerrito and he moved to Palo Alto, where he teaches at Stanford, following his tenure as a Stegner Fellow, and I don't have cell reception in the hills, so I haven't been calling people as much as I used to. Or it could be this blog, which frankly hasn't endeared me to many. Whatever the case, it was terrific seeing Rudolph, especially considering that since I'd last seen him he'd become a vegetarian, and Espetus is a steakhouse.
And it doesn't get any steakier than Espetus. The Brazilian steakhouse serves slab after hot slab of red, raw meat. The other food groups are represented as well, like pork and chicken, but it's the red meat that really draws--fucking top sirloin and fucking filet and fucking flopsteak, which was a new one but which tasted fucking awesome. And it just keeps coming, hulky chunks of bloody reddish purple flesh, perfectly seasoned and salted, brushed and charred. I'm almost getting a chubby as I write this. Goddamn, I love the stuff.
We're all about the same age, so nobody felt the need to grab the hot waitress and be, like, "Dude's getting married. Last night of freedom!" Which was cool since there weren't any hot waitresses, just dudes in matador attire, which just would've been weird.
I talk to most of these people, or write to them, or see them fairly frequently. Two of them, Big Tom and Jarret, are in my band, the Wandering Jews (playing next Thursday at the Blue Mccaw! http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=130051083739729), Rich is my Best Man and running partner, and Idan and I share the same personal trainer and perpetual car-tow victim, Adam. My brother has been living with me for the past three weeks. And though I don't see Noah, Matt, or my friend from grad school, Absalom, quite as much, I love each dearly. Noah was the lead guitarist from my first band, Something Like Paisley; Matt was bassist from my second band, the Creeping Charlies (and a dad, too, he and his wife are our "go-to couple" for those couple events), and Horatio contributed very very very quiet backup vocals to my 2006 hit cover of "Dead Flowers" (something he will never let me live down!).
After dinner, we all headed over to Zeitgeist, and I wished Dan was there. This was where his bachelor party was a few years ago, and where I punched out the roommate of the guy who slept with my second wife. Good times.
The best part was that nobody was drunk. People were drinking beer, but drinking like guys in their 40s, not like guys in their 20s, getting all wasted and talking about how much they love each other before breaking down in tears about how their dads didn't love them.
Then, one by one, the party ended. My buddy from grad school, Wendell, had to get back to Stanford. Jarret had to return to his newly assembled desk. Big Tom had to meet his girl who was "outie." So Josh, Rich, and I said goodbye to Idan, Noah, and Matt, and we headed into the cold San Francisco night.
I'll see them all on Saturday. But I want to say thanks to all (especially Oliver, who made a long trip up from Palo Alto). I love you all.