Un-Olympic
It's Saturday. I'm at Tanner's, a little coffeehouse with free wifi and a million outlets, in Culver City. Bagel, latte, oversized chairs, friendly folks working the espresso machines. Not a Starbucks in sight. It's like 1992 or something. (That's a compliment.)
I don't know where to live. Last Saturday night, I secured housing for August. On Sunday, I drove my old car, which I'd kept at my parents house in Pleasant Hill, seven hours to Venice, met my roommate, dragged two suitcases into my room and started the job, writing on a daytime talk show, the next morning.
Baby and Daddy stayed in New York. We said goodbye to his daycare, tears all around. Said good bye to our neighbors, wine all around. They are flying out Sept 1. (The first show of the season tapes the next day). The volume of available apartments is overwhelming. It wasn't like this when I came out in 2005. I am looking at five places today. Now me, I could stay anywhere. (After all, I've stayed at the Tucson Laffs comedy condo.) But KilBaby is almost three. He's curious. He opens doors and turns on faucets and touches, throws and licks everything. So, amenities are not a top priority. What happens if he opens this door? Is he close to a pool? Four lanes of traffic? Can he jump from that balcony? That guy over there... the one on the bench. Do you know him? I don't like his eyes. Or his pants. Those are the pants of a sex predator. Thank you for showing me, I have a few more places to see. Yes, I'll let you know.
Culver City is cute. It's a little junky, which I like. I joined the Y on Wednesday, and when I walked in on Thursday, the girl at the from desk said, "Hi Laurie." Exactly the opposite your LA Fitnesses, your 24 Hour Fitnesses. The Y equipment is a little old, the layout's crazy and the pool doesn't have gutters. That shit used to drive me crazy, no gutters in a pool. The waves, the wild, choppy water... so un-Olympic!! But I don't care anymore. The people are nice, the other members wear shirts that cover their abs when they run. And when it comes to swimming, I too am un-Olympic.
I am working with very funny people at the job. That is exciting. I feel like how I felt at Tough Crowd. Surrounded by funny people I can learn from and laugh with. That's the best feeling. And I feel like the responsibilities at this job will force me to reach deep. No more slumming with one show a night. If I may be so lazy as to reach for a car metaphor, then I predict that I will be firing on all cylinders.
Part Two
"OK, JFK?" asked the driver, wedging my 60 pound suitcases in the trunk.
"Yup," I said.
And off we went, with Harlem, then Manhattan twinkling in the rear view mirror.
I have a new writing job on LA. So we're packing up our things and moving to Beverly Hills Adjacent.
It happened so quick. The details were confirmed last Monday, the 3rd, and my first day is this Monday, the 10th, just seven days later. I tried to squeeze in as much New York as I could during the past four days. We saw Journey to the Stars at the American Museum of Natural History (really cool) and walked along the new, elevated High Line park, starting at 14th St. Ate breakfast for lunch at Manhattan Diner, an UWS restaurant that delivered to the maternity ward at St. Luke's one late Oct evening in 2006. Walked around Harlem Piers Park, the new park across from Fairway. Used to be a parking lot, now it's green and lush. The exact opposite of my hometown.
I never saw the Tenement Museum. Dang, I always wanted to see that. To be fair, I was only in the city for ten years.
Craigslist provided a sublet for August- I think I have two female roommates. I'll know for sure when I show up with my stuff on Sunday night. And I'll have until Sept 1st to find an apartment for the boyfriend and KilBaby. Lucky for me, now is a renter's market. The last time I lived in LA, I loved it. It's so fucking easy. The weather is easy, food shopping is easy, and the night cashier at the grocery store probably doesn't wear a t-shirt that says, "I Fucked Your Boyfriend." (On second thought, Pathmark on West 145th, maybe I will miss you.)
Comedy is a breeze. No guilt. No feeling lazy. Because it's nearly impossible to do more than one spot a night. There are fewer venues, and they are all hours apart, with traffic. And there is always traffic. Honestly, three spots a week in Los Angeles is considered decent. In LA, you have no excuse to not perform.
I am subletting the NY apartment. I expect to be here for a year at least, no matter what happens. Last time, I popped from furnished sublet to furnished sublet, and when the last show I worked on got cancelled, I left. Came back to NY, had a baby. Now I'm returning, with a pair of big brown eyes looking up at me, demanding food, housing and education for the next 16 years. And that's just my boyfriend.
When I moved to NYC in Jan of 99, I was just going to stay one year. Get seasoned. Then move to LA. But New York is endless and always unfolding and you just can't stay one year. I'm not done with New York at all, but I'm executing the second half of my plan. A few years late.
Now, who the fuck gave me one star on iTunes? That's just mean.
