The cashier at our local Wild Oats asked to see my identification today (I was trying to purchase a bottle of organic pinot noir along with other groceries).

I laughed and handed her my Texas driver’s license.

“Oh my,” she replied when she saw that I was exactly twice the legal drinking age. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”

I didn’t have the courage to remove my baseball cap.

Jazz legend Joe Zawinul, who soared to fame as one of the creators of jazz fusion and performed and recorded with Miles Davis, died early Tuesday, a hospital official said. He was 75.

The first fusion album I worshipped was Bill Bruford’s One of a Kind, bought in a Nantucket used record store back in 1981, two years after its release. To this day One of a Kind remains one of my favourite albums.

About five years ago Miles Davis’ In a Silent Way (the title track written by Joe Zawinul) joined One of a Kind in my pantheon of favourites . . . not only fusion but music in general.

Zawinul’s name is obviously not as recognizable as Davis’, but it’s difficult to imagine Miles spawning Bitches Brew if not for Zawinul’s influence.

I like to write to music—instrumental, preferably jazz. I’ve probably played In a Silent Way during the writing of my manuscript more times than any other album. I’m sure I’ll spin it again today.

Thanks, Joe.

Madeleine L’Engle has died at 88.

Ms. L’Engle (pronounced LENG-el) was best known for her children’s classic, A Wrinkle in Time, which won the John Newbery Award as the best children’s book of 1963. By 2004, it had sold more than 6 million copies, was in its 67th printing and was still selling 15,000 copies a year.

We have two copies of A Wrinkle in Time at home (including a signed copy), both belonging to The Wife. This should surprise no one who knows her. Inside every woman there’s a little girl who likes to come out . . . who needs to come out. It’s important they let them out. Keeps them youthful; keeps us youthful.

To cancel out the CO2 of a return flight to India, it will take one poor villager three years of pumping water by foot. So is carbon offsetting the best way to ease your conscience?

My conscience doesn’t need easing. Anything that’s promoted with such strident sincerity by politicians and “celebrities” smacks of noblesse oblige and nothing else. Go green you self-righteous sods . . . I’ll remain brown with spotless hands.

After all, as Brendan O’Neill writes:

I would never pick up shit and use it to warm my home, or spend hours on a treadmill in order to raise water. Would you? Then why should we expect anyone else to do such things, especially in the name of making some rich snots feel better about themselves?

Silver Lake, Los Angeles . . . 11:42 p.m.

Labour Day weekend draws to a close . . . everyone in bed but me (how unusual).

What started off shitty (35 minutes to drive two miles in Laguna Beach Friday afternoon) turned into a wonderfully silly weekend with California buddies (Dave and Robyn & Karl) and Texas guests (Sandy & Damon; Nadine and Stephanie).

The Wife & I took the train Friday from Santa Ana to Union Station where we were picked up by Rob & Karl. A mellow evening at their local Italian joint (Michelangelo Pizzeria Ristorante) followed by wine on their upper deck.

Saturday morning and the Texas crew rolled in. . . . A hot afternoon spent in the shade of the Farmer’s Market at the Grove and then the ubiquitous Labour Day feast back at Rob & Karl’s: grilled Haloumi; red snapper ceviche (wild, of course, accented with red onion, mango, Scotch bonnet and serrano chilies, olive oil, salt and pepper); seared foie gras (a two and a half pound lobe) with a blood orange-champagne vinegar-fresh fig sauce; grilled organic grass-fed tri-tip; grilled veggies; and Carnegie Deli cheesecake (a late birthday present from The Wife). And, of course, a seemingly endless supply of wine. . . .

Sunday morning came too early for many of us. . . . Any hope of a sleep-in confounded by the limo that arrived at 10 a.m., immediately shuttling us to Pink’s for breakfast hot dogs (The Wife & I had chili cheese dogs with bacon and tomatoes . . . gilding the lilly with the substitution of a spicy Polish link for the dog). Mimosas followed in the limo as we headed south to Hermosa Beach (our wedding town) with two brief detours: La Brea tarpits (humourous as the temperature rose into triple digits) and then the cemetery where Marilyn and others are buried.

An afternoon of drinking interspersed with shopping and eating (the famous tri-tip sandwich, of course) and then a stroll to Lifeguard Station No. 19 (the wedding site) and an hour ocean-side. We arrived back at Sandy and Damon’s hotel at 7:15 and drank poolside before bidding them adieu and heading back to Silver Lake for pizza and wine and an early night.

Too much laughter to recount: it’s been a good weekend, relaxing and silly and desperately needed.