N.Y. Boy in L.A.

There comes a time in our lives when, without warning, all that we know, appreciate, and love comes to an abrupt end. We are then forced to confront our fear of the unknown. We don’t know how the next chapter will read, which destination the next exit will take us to, what random song our iPods will play on shuffle.

At first, we don’t know how we’ll be able to handle the situation we’re suddenly thrown into. There may be shock. There may be the discomfort in knowing that what we were expecting has unfortunately come to fruition. And there may be the refusal to accept what has happened, clean-cut denial.

In her current award-winning book, "The Year of Magical Thinking," Joan Didion painstakingly recalls the loss of her husband and describes how we all react and process our thoughts when life takes that tragic veer off course. Simply put:

"Life changes fast. Life changes in the instant. You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.
The question of self-pity…It was in fact the ordinary nature of everything preceding the event that prevented me from truly believing it had happened, absorbing it, incorporating it, getting past it. I recognize now that there was nothing unusual in this: confronted with sudden disaster we all focus on how unremarkable the circumstances were in which the unthinkable occurred, the clear blue sky from which the plane fell, the routine errand that ended on the shoulder with the car in flames, the swings where the children were playing as usual when the rattlesnake struck from the ivy."

We tend to remember where we were, what we were in the middle of, when bad news reaches us. I was working from my boss’s house, watching Razzie peacefully take a nap on the couch, when my mother called to tell me my cousin passed away after suffering through a kidney disorder. Who knew I would be returning to New York after being back in Los Angeles for two weeks? Needless to say, it was a somber flight home, an emotionally draining weekend, and an eye-opening time to share with many loved ones.

I had seen more family than I did when I was visiting for the holidays. Tears were shed, yes, but laughter and smiles prevailed as we reminisced over old photographs, retold humorous anecdotes, and took comfort in delectable baked goodies. It was a heartwarming ocassion. Also sad was the fact that it took a tragedy like this to bring so many people together after being out of each other’s lives for so long. Why must we fall prey to the time-consuming trivialities that make us forget how connected we are to so many people in our lives?

I write this chapter not as a sympathy sponge but as a reminder of how we are more fortunate than we think. We should all wake up every morning thankful for what we have. So what if the toilet doesn’t flush right? Who cares if your Beamer has a scratch on the door? And really, does it matter that you’re wearing the same dress twice in one week? There is indeed a bigger picture; we just need to study the canvas more closely.

Little did I know that I would return to Los Angeles to face more bad news: NBC has cancelled "The Book of Daniel" and pulled it from its schedule entirely. If you tuned in last night to watch Aidan Quinn and Co. deal with the Vaporellis and other scandals, you were treated to a rerun of "Law & Order" (yawn). My boss Jack is naturally bummed. We all are. We were so proud of our last three episodes. There are some Emmy-worthy moments and performances that will never been seen. Perhaps Bravo will air the rest of these shows (don’t forget, it’s owned by NBCUniversal). Maybe "TBOD" will be available on DVD (Jack is trying hard to make it happen).

We will not go out quietly. Jack is planning to have a finale party/pot-luck dinner at the house with the writers and cast this Thursday night. We’ll gather around and watch the finale on an NBC-issued DVD and finally get to meet some of the actors. I think my contribution will be a carrot cake for dessert. I’ve had the strangest craving for it.

Right now, I am enjoying being in the moment, knowing I have a loving family and an amazing community of friends. I will not let this rough start to the new year deter me from believing that good things have yet to happen in the next eleven months. I just need to tap into that power source that is Me. Reluctantly I quote Ms. Mariah Carey when saying: only I can "make it happen."

Here’s to future happiness, upcoming celebrations, and more chapters filled with the trivial details of my Los Angeles experiences that is recorded here for your reading entertainment.

H.P.M.

It was either my jaded self or the fact that I was exhausted and coming down with a cold that made me indifferent to the sight of Sean Penn and Owen Wilson sitting at a table behind me at the wrap party for "You, Me and Dupree," the Universal flick my writing partner worked on as a script coordinator (the girl got to stay in Hawaii for three weeks - hate her).

The movie seems to be Universal’s attempt to repeat the success of "Wedding Crashers." It’s due in theaters this summer and stars Owen, Matt Dillon, Kate Hudson, and Michael Douglas. I have no clue what Sean was doing at the party. Perhaps he and Mr. Wilson are BFFs.

Whatever healthy-eating resolutions I made this year were checked with the bouncer at the door because I went to town on the shrimp cocktail and dessert platters. Before you could say "bulimia of Lohan proportions," Matt Dillon walked by, looking angry as usual. Apparently the crew had a lot to say about him, and it was all hysterically depicted in the mock "horror" trailer they edited for the occasion.

Jen did her best to introduce me to every producer, assistant director, and coordinator there was while pointing out who had read and loved the script we wrote. By 10:30, I was ready to head home and pass out.

I’ve been back in L.A. for almost two weeks now, and half of that time was slept in my own bed. Another housesitting gig for Jack had occupied most of my time while back in town. Operation Holiday Recuperation has been in full force.

New York was just as I had left it a year ago. Saw family I hadn’t seen in over a year. Felt much older after seeing my cousins hit growth spurts and share the same height as me. Got drenched on a rainy Christmas. Met friends for dinner and drinks in both Boston and Manhattan. And was asked for the umpteenth time, "How do you like L.A.?"

My snowy New Year’s Eve was spent at a house party with a large number of strangers. My friend Jenn invited me to ring in 2006 with some of her friends in Allston, just outside Boston. Beer pong? Check. Keg? Check. Mellow boy rock? You betcha. The hosts went by the names of Marty, Justin, and Matt.

After realizing what a tasty combo cherry vodka and Coke make, I noticed that some the partygoers were growing tired listening to the umpteenth Death Cab/Beck/Sublime track blare throughout the house. Some lightning needed to strike. Some energy needed to boost. Some booty needed to shake. I turned to Jenn who gave me the nod to break out my secret weapon: my iPod. I plugged into the stereo system, found my playlist, and let the music shuffle itself for the dance-starved party posse. I sat there on a stool in the living room, cranking out a little Missy Elliot, giving them a dash of Black Eyed Peas, and sprinkling some Basement Jaxx on top of it. Not to toot my own horn (oh, who am I kidding?), but during those two musical hours several people approached me to compliment my spinning abilities. One girl, visiting from Vermont, begged me to go back to her hometown and play one of the local bars.

"You’re an awesome DJ!"

"I know, right?"

It has recently become a fantasy job of mine to be a deejay at a small dive bar that just borders on hipster cool. I’d know exactly what the people would want to hear. I’d thrown in the popular stuff, spin a few random oldies, and release a couple of obscure numbers they would grow to love. Just like Javier, the DJ I met over at Posh in Hell’s Kitchen, I’d bring aural pleasure to those in need of some stimulation. It would be an awesome gig, playing the tunes I want, guaranteeing everyone a groovy time.

My love affair with my iPod has soared to new heights. On the way to work this morning, I activated the shuffle mode, and it knew exactly what tunes I wanted to hear. First, it treated me to a little Level 42 with "Something About You," then a definitive Hiko-pleaser, Tears for Fears’ "Everybody Wants to Rule the World." It was just what I needed to help me forget the sandpapering of my esophagus I like to call a sore throat.

It was at that moment I realized I had missed my car. I had missed my commute down pot-hole-prone La Cienega. I had missed the obnoxious fashion/movie billboards that flashed at every corner. I was…home.

For as long as I can fathom, the debate between why it’s great to live in L.A. or New York City has reared its well-coifed head in dinner parties, watercooler chats, hip-hop singles, cell phone conversations, and e-mail rants/blogs such as this one.

I, for one, have had it with East Coasters dismissing Los Angeles as an overly sunny mecca populated by plastic pod people. I have entered my fourth (!) year living in the City of Angels, and though I have experienced an occasional "poser moment" every now and then, I don’t let them tarnish my image of L.A. as a great place to live.

Disclaimer: Please don’t mistake me for opening a can of hateration on New York. It will always have a special, rent-controlled place in my heart.

I’ve been meaning to discuss this topic for the past month or two, and thanks to my friend David, who was recently interviewed by New York Magazine on reasons why to love NYC, I have been inspired to prepare a defense for a city in which I have comfortably settled.

But you’ve heard me go on about L.A., so why bother you again with details about scenic drives, fashionable eateries, multicultural neighborhoods, and the camaraderie formed by my fellow transplanted East Coast brethren? If you want your own personalized L.A. Cityguide, I’ll be happy to respond to your requests at a later date and time.

Right now, I’m in search for some aspirin to stop the jackhammer that won’t quit in my head while my boss preps for his on-air interview with Terry Gross on NPR. This is only one of the dozens of interviews Jack has had to give in the past few weeks. Oh, how we love responding to the ridiculous controversy that’s been surrounding "The Book of Daniel." God forbid you depict a minister and his family going through real problems on TV. Heads will spin at the silliest things. I’m sure the American Family Association and various Christian coalitions will remain quiet when Eva Longoria gets all Krystle Carrington on that hot Catholic nun on Sunday’s episode of "Desperate Housewives" but will cause an uproar when Aidan Quinn counsels a gay mobster this Friday night. If you can’t go after the popular powerhouse, attack the vulnerable newbie.

Thank you to everyone who tuned into the two-hour premiere. I can only tell you it gets juicier. The next three episodes are even better, and the finale has a nifty plot twist. If you haven’t gotten a Season Pass on your TiVo, do it now…or just cancel your plans for the next several Friday nights.

- H.P.M.