A Funny Looking Place

Los Angeles is an interesting town. As soon as I arrived, I was impressed that a squeegee person jumped onto the windshield and cleaned it. Especially since I arrived on an airplane.

LAX is fascinating. Although I looked all over, and I not once saw Heather Locklear or Blair Underwood.

They have oxygen bars in LA. People pay money to breathe clean air. They claim that breathing this actually makes you feel high. They also say that the air you breathe in these bars is as clean as the air was 200 years ago. I suddenly realized: the founding fathers of our nation were high all the time. No wonder people back then saw witches: they were stoned out of their minds.

I went to Universal Theme Park and then had the wildest, most death defying ride ever: I took a cab from Universal to Hollywood who knew a "short cut" through the twisting roads of Hollywood Hills. It was night, which is just as well, as I probably didn't want to see what would happen if more than one tire was hanging over the edge. Universal is missing out: they should sell tickets to cab rides at 90 miles an hour along the cliff of a hill.

In Hollywood, I went to a comedy club. While waiting in line, some women stated they were waiting to hear a friend perform. I made the mistake of mentioning that I knew one of that evening's comics. Big mistake. My friend came out and gave a whole routine about how the men she knew have mistreated her. None of her comments, though, pertained to me. Yet, thoughout her routine, I could see the women I met in line glaring at me and giving me the interational sign language of "you deserve to die." I tried to reply with the international sign language of "she's not talking about me." Yet, I realized that there is no international sign language for "she's not talking about me." (In fact, I am amazed to learn there even was an international sign language reading "you deserve to die" and that I knew it).

My friend warned me prior to the comedy sessions that by sitting in the front row I was likely going to be picked on. I was ready. I was going to tell any comic that asked, in a completely serious face, that I worked "in waste management,,, in accounts receivable", and that I was visiting to inspect fire hazards. If I was asked if I was married, I was going to respond "I was, but my wife died last week." After throwing the comic's timing off, I'd then add "but she deserved to die." Interestingly, maybe I looked too prepared. The comics picked on everyone in the front row but me. (I must have had the international face that reads "I'm from waste management, accounts receivable.")

Besides, I'm a Philomathean, and no one picks on a Philo and expects to continue working in the industry, right fellow Philos? (For non-Philos, just nod your heads and fear us.)

One female comic had a guy go on stage and asked him to pretend to pick up a bar of soap. Had she asked me to do it, I would have pantomimed kicking the soap onto the top of my shoe and then kicking the soap up so I could catch it. I would have then turned and explained "you learn to do that in the joint."

Ahh, missed opportunities to upset comics...