Clubbing with the Kennedy's

I went clubbing with the Kennedy’s. Not those Kennedy’s but their last name is Kennedy. That must count for something.

Oh, and we didn’t really go clubbing but I will get into that discrepancy later.

Recently, my friends—the Kennedy’s--relocated from the melba toast town of Irvine to the historic and happening town of Pasadena so this past weekend I went up to visit their knew home. If I had to pick a So Cal town to live in I would ask to take up in their guest room. I enjoy seeing homes and buildings built before 1970. Architecture excites me. I also enjoy a place that offers nightlife in one central downtown area.

As you may or may not have inferred from my blog, I enjoy cocktailing; hence I should inform you that the Kennedy’s do not drink. That said, the Brits by birth were excited at the prospect of taking my to the local pub honoring the motherland. According the Kennedy Patriarch no self respecting Englishman would walk into to bar and not have someone order a drink. Thus the theme of the trip became “Clubbing with the Kennedy’s” which is ironic because I, or they, do not know the last time any of us entered a “club.”

On our drive to a free concert and picnic at Levitt Pavilion Papa Bear Kennedy inquired, “Is that a club?” Forcing his wife to respond, “No that’s my hairdressers.” Followed a few moments later when he said, “See those people lining up…that might me a club (pause) oh it is a cinema.”

Needless to say we were not truly committed to clubbing but we did do some barhopping and I was gifted with two designated drivers. Alas, at 11:55, just prior to our meter expiring we called it a night and returned to the Kennedy Compound.

The next morning we woke early to visit the Huntington Library, which the clearly cultured Kennedy’s are members. We explored a portion of the amazing Botanic Gardens followed by the library that houses the Gutenberg Bible, Shakespeare’s First Folio, books written (as in by hand) on velum, Canterbury Tales and so much more.

I have been traveling quite a bit lately and one thing is becoming clear to me. I am getting old. The quality of my vacation depends more on the sights I see than the nightlife I encounter. I am more excited about discovering The Spreckles Organ in Balboa Park, San Diego than I am about drinks at the Hotel Del—both of which were delightful. I would rather visit a Cactus Garden than the new hotspot. I am ok with that.

http://www.huntington.org/