It was a weekend of every possible weather and emotional state available to modern man, including combos of the two. For instance, Friday ranged from temperate-stilted-happy to drizzle-impatient-depressed, and there was even an hour stint of sunny-nervous-self-annoyed feelings of inadequacy and that feeling that sometimes, either you’re running a slow clock or the universe is running a fast one. Either way, you’re late for everything, and for everything that matters, you’re late plus half an hour. Which makes you the guy everyone dislikes for being late. And I hate being that guy. Too often I’m the guy getting annoyed at the guy who’s always late. It’s like being thrust into the middle of a play by Nietzsche.
Piper visited me, which is true in the sense that he stayed at my house and by dint of a series of telecommunications errors, failed to spend any time with any of his other friends with whom he had intended on meeting whilst here in Los Angeles. It was thus a four day period of existentialism masquerading as a series of car journeys to various parts of the city. Our time was spent mostly in conversation, peppered liberally with political in-jokes, cultural mockery, coffee, and understated observation one often applies to anyone not named Bill Maher.
Piper is a reserved and bitter herb, like parsley, unquestionably a man of distinct personal taste and a penchant for being rather than doing. He can seem difficult to please at times, yet displays little affectation for decision-making that is required in the process of receiving the kind of service that usually precedes being pleased. He is, in a word, passive. When I met him at the airport, it was nearly an hour after his flight was to have arrived. He was alert, and we made our way back to my apartment.
We spent Friday at Universal, which is a theme park without roller coasters. Lee and I tried out for Fear Factor Live!, filling out three pages of medical and legal paperwork (Come to Universal! Sign waivers!) but didn’t even make it through the first casting round. We went to the show at five and discovered one of the contestants was a ringer. We had been Hollywooded before we had a chance to respond. It had begun raining and was actually chilly, which led to the next discovery, in which Lee announced he did not have the car key. He had given it to Tim, or so he suspected, and we were now stuck at Citywalk until Joe could drive Lee’s wife to Universal with the extra key. Thus we spent the next two hours eating at Karl Strauss (great beer) and mulling potential things to do at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf (mediocre coffee).
We missed the last tram going down to where the parking lot, so we hiked halfway down and were picked up at the Hilton, where it was revealed that Lee had left the key inside the car lock.
Saturday evening Greg and I descened upon Venice Beach, where I was immortally hailed by Governor Arnold Schwartznegger as he and Maria rode their bikes down the bike path, saying, “Hi, how are you.” You may hear a clip of his exact intonation and linguistic form here. Unfortunately, I had initiated the short conversation with the plebian, “Hey! What’s up!”
So I’m a tool and a moron. Still, a thousand points for me, at least.
Later that evening Greg, Hooker, and I went to La Cabana for margueritas and tapas. As DD, I was limited to one, while they capped off two apiece. Piper had also downed a beer before going out, so by the time we arrived back at the apartment he was beginning to fade. We attempted to get a podcast going, and did some pre-audio work, but nothing materialized, and Piper fell asleep on the couch. Tequila is not his friend.
Sunday we went to lunch after church. After a bit of confusion with directions, we arrived and ate at a trendy LA cafe named The Alcove [What, no website? --Ed. Hey, I said it's trendy, not current.]. It’s the kind of place where you see soap opera stars (I think I overheard some in our party mentioning on of the guests as a former soap star) and Willem Dafoe lookalikes, where the prices are inflated to match the bourgeois decor and attitude. I liked it, but didn’t love it. I’m not quite hipster enough for its feng shui’d arrangements.
Sunday afternoon was spent at hockey and coffee (not at the same time) until the only planned event, and which was to be the highlight of the weekend. A friend of Piper’s named Josh Paget was performing at The Comedy Store, which is owned by Pauly Shore (or his parents, one) and has been a stand-up mecca for many years. I had invited the Medici girls to the event, and it proved to be a successful expenditure of $15 plus drinks. Some of the acts were not so good, and one that was downright painful to watch, but there were a number of enjoyable routines that had me laughing out loud, which is a rare thing. And I got the comics’ price on my first drink, which was nice. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves, despite the fact that we gave up on the next-to-last comic, who died a slow death onstage. It’s probably not easy setting yourself on fire, but it’s as difficult, if not more so, to be the innocent bystander caught in the cross breeze of burning human flesh.
If there’s something to be said for stand-up comedians, it’s this: You gotta have an iron will to get up on stage and reveal just how lame or hilarious you are. If you’ve got it, then you might have a successful time working up a few laughs. If you’re lucky, the drinks start working their magic about a quarter way through the acts, so by the time you get up there, people are already feeling happy and vaguely amused by the whole experience anyway. If not, you gotta gut it out, and five minutes feels like five days of God-sent anguish. Though when it’s all over, you can say, “Yeah, I tried stand-up for a while. It just didn’t pay the bills.”
Kinda like this blog.
It was a good weekend, though Piper was a bit tempermental at times with some unresolved issues with a female friend of his looming over his head and some poorly planned hopeful get-togethers that never coalesced. I admit my own lack of understanding in this matter, and I had the brief feeling that I was on the receiving end of some frustration on his part for lacking much of a night life, but other than that, I think the visit was a good one. I do apologize for the lack of blogging, but it’s a little difficult when you’re meeting the governor of California and former action star. Oh yeah, and hanging out with Piper.
1,000 points. At least.