SQUANDERLUST

Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About: BEVERLY HILLS, CA!

We were invited to a dinner party in Beverly Hills. 

We had an in.  The host was Maggie’s aunt and her home is a nice place that contains everything a home in Beverly Hills is expected to have: several sleeping locations, a backyard with a grotto-like area, several walls with oak bookshelves, a collection of paintings with a historical connection to the owner of a personal significance, a bathroom where seemingly every surface is a mirror, and a property in close proximity to an infamous cult-related mass murder. 

I’ll come back to that.  First, you know how at the beginning of THE NAKED GUN 2 1/2: THE SMELL OF FEAR, when Lt. Frank Drebin is a guest of the White House and he’s working so hard on his crab dinner that when he finally manages to pull off a leg he ends up clocking Barbara Bush in the face?   Like this scene, I was fighting with a piece of bread that wouldn’t break.  When it finally did, it broke into our hostess.

It’s ok.  By that point, the dinner conversation was already on horse piss and seal farts.  Also, afterward everyone was alert for desert. 

Look at us!  We were so hungry then!

Before the dinner that climaxed in aggressive fooding, we had some time to enjoy our surroundings.  Wanting to explore the area, Ben and I went for a run.  We started at the bottom of one of Beverly Hills’ hills.  We ran for the length of two front yards.  We decided to walk.  THESE ARE STEEP HILLS.

These are the hills that killed Aaron Spelling (Maggie’s Uncle)

Out of breath, our trek turned into a search for the infamous Sharon Tate house, the location of one of Manson’s worst atrocities.  Discovering that this mansion no longer exists, we decided to just walk to the top of the hill.  Discovering a “Private Property” sign and an estate where I’m assuming something similar to this was probably occurring, we decided to walk back.  We did speak loudly and obnoxiously as we went as a means to freak out the residents (for example, pointing to private yards and saying “Ah, the Beverly Hills Public Pool!” etc.).

When we arrived back at the house, pre-dinner, the coyotes weren’t there yet (they do come at night!) but a young man named Jeffrey was.  We were all introduced; he was well dressed in a white polo, a pair of slacks, and dress shoes and everyone was genuinely chummy.  We assumed he was someone’s son, then Maggie’s aunt ushered him into the kitchen.  There, he stayed for the duration of our dinner, which he cooked himself.  HE WAS OUR SERVANT.  First household dinner involving paid servitude!

Maggie’s aunt warding off the dinner coyotes.

All in all, it was a wonderful time.  Everybody had a chance to converse over wine and treats while Jeffrey waited in the shadows.  There was discussion of the extensive neighborhood history, the presentation of the warm cookies, the chat on family backgrounds, the unveiling of the “Republican-sniffing” dog.  And there you have it.  The Family Crest: FOOD!  TALES!  PET TRICKS!  DINNER VIOLENCE!

Beverly Hills at its finest.