Wigs Out West
We were graciously invited down to Palm Springs again by The Wigs last week. They often rent a place for a month to escape the Eastern winter and invite a motley crew to join them. I feel OK using that term as the wife and I are the ones that make it motley. I was going to refer to the property as their winter palace, but that would not fit as they are decidedly Democratic.
We arrived to meet up again with the La Jolla couple that we had watched the Super Bowl with a few years ago. They are old friends of The Wigs from the Summit, NJ days. The next day the Wig’s brother and his wife flew in from JFK. He’s the Running Beast and his wife is Mrs. RB, which I’m sure surprises you. I was speaking with Mrs. Wig about my odd and lazy naming convention. She pointed out she is not really Mrs. Wig as she has retained her maiden name. Therefore, I need her and Mrs. RB to provide me a bar name like the FC women did.
Friday night the octet had a great dinner at Copley’s, one of Palm Springs’ high-end joints. It is the former home of Cary Grant. We had a nice outside table that the Wig had picked out for us to see and be seen. Cocktails and dinner were fab.
What I like to do the morning after a night out is sip my coffee and catch up on the news. If you are like RB, you head out before dawn, hit a local footrace and bring home second place in your age group. I was hoping to pull a Trump move and be awarded his medal, but that would be a tad tacky, wouldn’t it. The rest of us had a bit of a lazy Valentine’s Day, except for my wife who whipped up a scrumptious chicken dinner with an assist from Mrs. RB. That was our only home cooked dinner of the trip.
We spent a lot of time in the hot tub, which fits the entire crew comfortably. The pool was unheated so I took a couple cold plunges, knowing I could quickly hop to the hot tub. They later heated the pool for their granddaughter who arrived after we left.
We had an interesting dining adventure at the Rooster and the Pig on Sunday night. We had multiple dishes to share from the Vietnamese menu, and they all hit the spot. But that was all preceded by a little drama. The place does not take reservations, so we got there about 5:30 and put our name in. The parking lot was full of folks ahead of us, so we knew we were in for a wait. A few of us went to a nearby place for a drink then came back and waited some more. We were delighted to hear “Michael, table for six” but there happened to be another party that fit that description. The other Michael tried to slime his way into our table but was ultimately routed. I was a straggler, so I heard some badmouthing from him before I walked in. He was nowhere in sight when we had arrived, so I asked him when he got there. He declined to answer. So I said rather aggressively, “What time did you get here, pal” which elicited a defensive response from one of his cohorts. I then took my spot at the table and was sad to see them seated about ten minutes later. We apparently got some dirty looks. And I need to keep in mind that I have not been able to back up a “pal” routine like that since the late 90s.
We got some rain on Monday, so we took further advantage of the hot tub as well as watched some of the Winter Olympics. We had a reservation for a fancy Mexican place that evening, but The Wig made an executive decision to cancel that. We instead went to a family Mexican place that serves the stuff I’m used to, and we all got our fill. We said our goodbyes the next day.
We are very grateful for our desert invitation and would like to be back there right now. The wife and I have been huddled in our offices with the space heaters on since we woke up. We broke down and turned on the furnace so we could move around the house. The 57 degrees registering on the thermostat was not cutting it.


