Paint with all the colors of the wind

When Matt said he wanted to go to Old San Francisco Steak House for his birthday I tried to explain about the girl on the swing, and about the brothel-like decor. But he likes to try new restaurants, and we figured it was too late to make reservations at somewhere nice like Ruth's Chris. My description of Old San Francisco didn't change his mind, but when we walked in the door and an old lady in a feather boa asked if it was anyone's birthday Matt looked like he'd just entered the Twilight Zone. My man is good at many things, but hiding his emotions is not one of them, and I think everyone at the restaurant could tell that he was in shock. "What decade is this supposed to be from?" he asked, "and why was that old lady dressed like that?".

And when our eyeliner-clad waiter rewarded out patronage with bread and that ten-pound block of cheese, my lactose intolerant husband actually did a double take. Then he whispered, "Is this a birthday joke you're playing on me? Is that why they asked if it's my birthday?"

When I pointed out that every table had a massive square of cheese and he was convinced that it wasn't some weird birthday prank, he was somewhat mollified.

But then the singing started.

The swing girl didn't have a bad voice, not exactly. She could carry a tune, and she made some brave but foolish attempts to tap-dance while singing jazzy show tunes. We giggled, but we could deal. The other patrons applauded politely when the song finished, and then someone yelled "Another!"

The piano player started up again and Our Lady of the Swing gripped her mic, ready to pelt us with song. "You think you ooooown whatever laaaaand you laaaand oooon", she crooned into the audience, "The earth is just a dead thing you can claaaaaaiiiim." Matt and I looked at each other. "Is this the song from Pocahontas?", I asked incredulously. Matt was starting to laugh, "This is totally out of place. How does this fit at all?"

The Swing Girl kept on torturing us as we giggled through our meal, but she looked affronted when I put in a request for "Baby Got Back", so we tried to keep somewhat quiet. The steak wasn't bad, and personally, I loved the hunk of cheese.

Then we headed home, deftly skipping out on an invitation to go see Dukes of Hazzard. (Why Hollywood executives, WHY?) Saturday night we went to County Line with a motley crew including the newly returned and victorious Alia and Chris, Chris's charming and extremely endearing British friends, Carla and Erik, and, of course, the Giani-Sherrill's. While waiting for a table we hung out on the restaurant's back porch, watching the turtles and listening to live music. At one point the microphone was handed over to a kid who looked about seven. He grinned as he started singing softly and his mother smiled encouragingly. We were all craning our necks and trying to figure out what he was signing when one of the British boys said, "I believe he's signing 'Complicated' by Avril Lavigne." Sure enough.

All in all it was a good, but weird, weekend. Full of random singing. I think maybe this is karma coming to get me, since last week I "helped" Matt stay awake on the drive back to from San Francisco by singing all of the songs from "The Wizard or Oz", complete with character voices for the munchkins.