Sometimes I Can Be Funny

I'm sitting out in the garage, checking out Patrick's new set up out here, and I have to tell you, my office may be a mess, there may be a hundred pairs of shoes under the desk, there may be cats and cat hair all over the place, but it's way more comfortable than his desk.

Then again, his machine kicks my machine's ass. There is that.

I'm also doing laundry, listening to Pandora radio, and looking outside at the beautiful day today is working out to be. I just hung up on some guy who was calling from the Democratic National Party - I let him say his thing, which of course ended with, "Most people have found that they can give $100. How much of a contribution would you be willing to make?" I said, "Okay, no thanks, bye," and hung up. Patrick's taking a shower, and in just a little bit, we're going to have some dim sum, probably in Downtown LA, but possibly in Cerritos, of all places.

My vote is for Ocean Seafood, our old standby, but we'll see.

Anyway, so last night before "Quartet" got started, one of the old-school Santa Monica-ites walked into the theater. When I say "old school Santa Monica-ites," I mean, the type of woman who has lived there in a rent-controlled apartment since before Santa Monica became the home of Hooters and The Gap and when you could walk down Third Street at 9 o'clock on a Saturday night without a bodyguard holding onto your belt. The type of woman who's a tiny bit off her rocker.

So she comes in, and I'm sitting on the bench in front of the box office station, drinking my "Citrus Squeeze with Immunity Boost" Jamba Juice, and Paul is perched on a stool (the brother of the stool I sit on in the booth. I am finding that stools are incredibly uncomfortable to sit on for more than five minutes or so), working the box office. Yes, I did say "working." You know what I mean.

Anyway, so he's talking to this lady, and he's managing to be quite polite, but see, I was in some sort of weird mood - everything was making me giggle. And then this weird lady asks him, and I swear to god these are the exact words she used, she goes, "And how big are you?" Of course they were speaking of the house, and how many seats, but of course I was feeling particularly juvenile and ridiculous, and well, I had to leave. I went out into the alley, and laughed for awhile, and then after I'd calmed down, I went back in and sat down. The lady left.

I walked up to Paul, and said,

"Paul, the next time a woman asks you how big you are, you should be thinking inches, not seating."

He claimed he didn't get it; I think it was just so stupid that he chose to ignore it and move on.

Still. I thought it was funny, and obviously here, my opinion is the only one that matters.

Ah. Raw power.

Now I must go listen to some Iggy and the Stooges. And then we're off for dim sum.