The Mad Poller What Polls at Midnight (maeincarnate) wrote,
The Mad Poller What Polls at Midnight

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So we loaded up the truck and moved to Beverly

Sunday, we got up early to go to brunch at a place Ed recommended that was tucked away in the mountains behind Malibu. We took the scenic route to get there, which involved a half-hour ride that wound up and down and around the mountains and valleys, which was worth every second. The restaurant, The Inn of the Seven Rays, was a new-age organic food place perched on the side of one of the mountains overlooking a small stream and some woods. They had a brunch buffet, which included vegetarian pasta salad dishes, broccoli concoctions, quiches, and some of the most amazing fruit I have ever eaten. The freshest, organically grown, of course, pineapples, honeydew and canteloupe melons, kiwis and these strawberries that the waitress told me were picked this morning and were so sweet that they started forming a syrup just from being rinsed off. They were ooey and gooey and delicious. Then there was the vegan raspberry mousse, which I don’t even need to get in to, but let me say, I’d go across country again just for it.

Since it was our last day there, it was, of course, the most beautiful. We still had not been to Beverly Hills, so we chose to do one of those tours to see the stars’ homes.

The tour left from the Chinese Theater, so we bought our tickets and looked around while waiting for our scheduled tour, which was at 4:00. The bus boarded a bit late, and finally, around 20 minutes later, our tourguide showed up. Our hearts sank and we could hear the distant sound of our $30 being flushed down the toilet as soon as she spoke: of all of the tourguides working for the whole company, we had the good fortune to get Ricky Ricardo’s less coherent sister. It took us about three repetitions to figure out that when she said Murph Gribon, she meant Merv Griffin (she even spelled it out for us: “M – E – R – Victor” which was what made it sink in). She was incomprehensible, which was frustrating, but the a-holes sitting in front of use were making fun of her so loudly that she started apologizing for her accent every fifth word, which made me feel bad about being angry about not understanding her in the first place.

We got to see Aaron Spelling’s house, Richard Gere’s House, Leo DeCaprio’s house, Patrick Swayze’s house, Angelina Jolie’s, Mel Gibson’s (who, as the guide editorialized, is a good boy because he’s had seven children with the same wife) and a bunch of former homes of now deceased stars like Marilyn, Frankie and Deano. She took us through Rodeo Drive and Melrose and then back to the Theater.

After the tour, we headed back to VJ’s apartment to get ready to go out to dinner. We decided on the Bottle Inn, an Italian place in Hermosa Beach, to celebrate the last night of our vacation. The food was excellent, the atmosphere was perfect, and thanks to our corporate sponsor, so was that lovely bottle of wine from a small vineyard in Napa Valley. It was the perfect end to the trip.

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