Me and Bernie backstage at the show.
LA Moment #1: The LA Woman.
We're having drinks with a bunch of people, mostly men who write comedy. We're discussing where we would move to if we could live anywhere in the world. The very pretty, tan girl at the table says, "I would move to Bali if they would just get rid of all of the Muslims." My jaw drops. The men blink, then begin to talk to each other. It's as if she hadn't said a thing. She looks at me and says, "I guess that was kind of harsh, huh?" "Yes it was," I say. (Note: Bali is a Hindu island.)
LA Moment #2: See No Evil.
On Wednesday, the day the bombing started, I sit in a bar watching television. I ask the bartender what he thinks about all this war business and he says, "We're not supposed to talk about politics."
LA Moment #3: Thank God I Rented The Convertible.
One day it took us two hours to get from Los Angeles to Santa Monica. They are fifteen miles apart. A friend tells me, "Everything in Los Angeles takes fifteen minutes to get to." I reply, "Unless it takes two hours." "Right," she says.
LA Moment #4: Tree Huggers.
Me: Did you hear about all the protesters in San Francisco? They arrested over a thousand people! Isn't that amazing?
Man: Ah, there's too many damn tree huggers in San Francisco.
LA Moment #5: They Only Care About The Traffic.
Me (hoping that this time I will get the response I want): Did you hear about all the protesters in San Francisco? They arrested over a thousand people! Isn't that amazing?
Woman: Good for San Francisco!
Me: Yea!
Woman: I mean, all of those protesters were like, blocking traffic, I'm sure. It's so good the police got 'em off the streets.
Me: Sigh.
LA Moment #6: Celebrity Sighting.
I saw Michael Keaton at a tequila bar. He's short, and old now.
LA Moment #7: Writing Tip.
Jill Soloway tells me, "You need to write as if your parents are dead."
LA Moment #8: But I Thought They Only Made Reality TV These Days.
After the performance, a very nice woman approaches me, compliments me on the piece, and then asks me if I have ever thought about writing for sitcoms.
LA Moment #9: For A Dozen Years, In Fact.
At a bar after the performance, Bernie and I were leaning in close, whispering in each others' ears. A comedienne, Bonnie, said, "Are you two going out?"
We didn't get it.
"You mean after this bar?" said Bernie. "I don't think we had planned that far ahead."
I shrugged my shoulders.
"No," said Bonnie. "I meant: Are you dating?"
"Ohhh," we said in unison.
"No, we've just known each other a really long time," I said.
For some reason this made sense.
LA Moment #10: Malibu.
We drove to Malibu on Friday, after it was all over. The performance was done and we hadn't sucked, which was nice. I had lunch with Allen Rucker and his wife, worthy of note not only because of the pleasant, comforting conversation, but also because it was the first decent meal I had eaten all week. I fucking lived on appetizers and chardonnay for some reason, and that is just wrong. Our gracious city host John had gone back to Napa. And I had met a million people, names escaping me except for: the ones that who were interested in New York City and felt the need to connect; all the nice comedy ladies who talked to me about pregnancy and parenthood; and our show hosts, Maggie and Jill, who were so nice and funny, God, I forgot how funny people could be because I'm alone so much of the time and, when I do venture out in the world in my daily life, I am usually surrounded by humorless Hassidic men who cross to the other side of the street when they see me coming. I have to admit it: I laughed my ass off in Los Angels.
Anyway, I picked Bernie up at the Shangri-La in Santa Monica and said, "What should we do?"
"I don't know," she said. She was in thought.
"Let's go to Malibu," I said. "I think it's that way." I pointed straight ahead.
I was right. It was beautiful. We sat on the beach and watched two surfers suck and crash again and again. Later I noticed it was a father teaching his son to surf, or maybe it was the reverse?
I told Bernie about how I had witnessed a surfer funeral the last time I was in Malibu. A crowd of friends and family walked a group of surfers to the shore, handing some of them flowers. Then the surfers swam out for a while, formed a circle, and threw these heaping piles of flowers in the center; and the crowd of people threw more flowers into the water, the tide carrying them back out again. No one cried. I saw not one tear. Everyone smiled and watched as the surfers took turns talking, occasionally chanting. It was better than any funeral I have ever seen, in real life or on tv or in the movies. And funerals aren't supposed to make you feel like that, I know, but this one did.
"I always get that song in my head, the Courtney Love one, when I'm in Malibu," I said. "Do you know that one?"
Bernie shook her head and laughed. Her knowledge of contemporary music stops around 1995. She plays that first big Stone Temple Pilots album over and over again in her car. Her daughter, Isa, knows all the words, she told me once proudly.
"There was a video where she runs around in the ocean imitating the Madonna 'Cherish' video, except it's at night."
Blank stare from Bernie. I wonder why she puts up with me when I insist on talking about stupid music videos all the time.
Later on I realized I had lost my keys and Bernie found them in the sand, about fifteen feet away from where we were sitting.
"LA is turning me into a fucking idiot," I said.
"It is," she said.
"Thank god I'm leaving tomorrow," I said.
We got in the car and left.