This year's birthday took on the tone of some miraculous Hebrew celebration wherein I got a present every day of the week leading up to My Birth Day. Or rather, it would have been my own personal Hanukkah if Jack hadn't been so slammed at work. "I have a present for you," he said Monday, "but I left it at the office." On Tuesday he said, "I have two presents for you now and they're both at the office." On Wednesday he came home with three packages of identical size and heft. The first one was Pineapple Express, the second one was the Criterion edition of Bottle Rocket, and the third one was Forgetting Sarah Marshall. This man I live with, he knows me.
What happened Thursday? A walk on the beach with the dogs and the driest bottle of Champagne known to humanity, or at least the driest, cleanest Champagne I have yet experienced in my vast lifetime. (My lifetime, it is vast. And notably shallow.)
Friday was dinner out with Jack and my friend Louis Roederer, and now, today, I have sitting next to me (cuddling up coyly with my new Lamb Chop hand puppet)(and I love that link because the photo caption says "Lamp Chop") a ridiculous booklet describing the vintage Dom Perignon we'll be drinking later:
"This wine is full of life, with a fresh nose that dances through a spiral of aromas, blending hints of angelica, dried flowers, pineapple, coconut, cinnamon, cocoa and tobacco. With a fullness in the mouth, its earthy, smoky, pearly complexity rises to the surface, underscored by the vibrant warmth of peppery spice. The sensation of intensity develops and melts into a deep, rounded heart, with a fruity, exotic maturity and a slight touch of aniseed. This sensation, almost unsettling, is even more pronounced in the finish, while the notes of spice, still present, remain discreet, with toasted, iodine flavours."
Someday I hope that will describe me: a deep, rounded heart, with a fruity, unsettling maturity and notes of toasted iodine. Maybe wearing one of those coconut bras, and smoking a cigarette.
God, I miss smoking sometimes.