Tales of Woe From the West Coast (Part 4)

You better lose yourself in the music, the moment
You own it, you better never let it go
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime...
--Eminem

There are fuzzy aspects to the memories I'm recounting here. Remember, it all happened more than two years ago. Moreover, I often feel that the hot southern California sun literally baked my brain like some kind of giant cookie when I lived in San Diego. My time out there often feels like a fever dream, rather than an actual experience.

For instance, I can't remember whether Roxana, my grad school friend, and I ever actually spoke by telephone after I got the ABC meeting, or whether we simply exchanged emails. I do know that she assured me she'd put in a good word for me if Annabelle contacted her. And I mean, of course she would. Why wouldn't she?

I remember clearly the day I drove to Burbank. My meeting was set for 4PM, so my boss at the time, Lisa, let me leave work at noon. I have been extremely blessed over the last eight years to have a series of incredibly supportive bosses -- bosses who let me leave early or come in late or miss days altogether because I had some kind of performing opportunity or commitment. Lisa was one of them.

I remember I borrowed BW's LaHonda and our roommate, CW's GPS device for the trip. I packed a Subway sandwich -- the sweet onion teriyaki chicken -- and a big bottle of water. I again wore what I thought was casual-yet-cool t-shirt-and-jeans ensemble. And I drove. And I drove. And I drove, and I drove, all the while repeating a mantra to myself: "You can do this. You will do this."

About 20 miles outside of L.A., I witnessed a car accident. I mean, I actually saw the accident happen. A car several hundred yards ahead of mine sideswiped another changing lanes, causing it to spin out. It wasn't a major accident; I watched as both drivers stepped out of their cars unhurt. But I remember thinking as I passed them, "Thank God. In five minutes, once the emergency vehicles arrive, the freeway is going to be a parking lot." (Reflecting on this now, maybe I shouldn't have left the scene of an accident? Or does that only apply when one is actually involved in the accident?)

Burbank is only 12 miles north of downtown L.A., and it's often referred to as the "Media Capital of the World." I therefore expected it to look like L.A. itself -- a sprawling, industrialized hellhole. But it didn't. It was actually rather charming -- a place with tree-lined streets and single-family homes and horse farms. (The air actually smelled like horseshit, but in a pleasant kind of way.) It was like a wealthy Connecticut suburb with palm trees.

This is exactly how I remember it.

I remember I arrived about a half-hour too early for my meeting, so I pulled over at a hamburger place and stepped outside to call my parents. I remember the air outside was extremely hot -- even hotter than midday San Diego -- and I quickly got back into the air-conditioned car so I wouldn't be all sweaty and gross-looking for my meeting. I remember pulling up to the gate at ABC and giving the guard my name, and I remember him smiling at me and waving me in.

I remember walking through the lobby and seeing the walls lined with pictures of classic television shows from my childhood -- shows like "Happy Days" and "Mork & Mindy." I remember the elevator ride up to meet Donny and Annabelle floor, willing myself to stop sweating.

I was greeted by an assistant and offered water in a cup -- bottled water had recently become verboten at the network due to environmental concerns -- and then Donny and Annabelle came out. "I just saw a car accident!" I blurted out after hands were shook. We were all walking back to Donny's office.

"You did?" Donny asked.

"Yes, right in front of me! On the freeway! I actually saw it happen!"

Meanwhile, my inner voice was whispering "Shut the fuck up. You sound like a crazy person. Witnessing a car accident is probably not that exciting to people who live in Los Angeles. Or to anyone else, for that matter. Calm down. You can do this. You will do this."

We went into the office and shut the door. And for the next hour -- and it was a solid hour -- we talked. Or more accurately stated, I talked. And I talked. And I talked, and I talked. Every time I shut my mouth, Donny or Annabelle would ask me another question, and I talked some more.

And what did they ask me about? Everything. And I do mean everything. In the course of that hour they asked me -- and I told them -- about my experience in stand-up. About living in San Diego versus New York. About having a boyfriend in the Military. About pop culture, including what TV shows and performers I liked and didn't like. About my family. About my sex life. About my political views and my philosophy of life and my thoughts about being a gay man in America in 2008.

It was an incredibly intensive hour of therapy. In fact, as the meeting wore on, I found myself leaning back in my chair, almost reclining, as if I were in an actual therapy session. I even said I one point, "I feel like I'm talking to my therapist!" Donny and Annabelle didn't react. They didn't react to anything I said. They were completely inscrutable. It was like having a conversation with two very inquisitive housecats.



"If you could co-host a pop culture talk show with any straight female celebrity, who would it be?"

I told them I liked Kelly Ripa and thought I'd have good chemistry with someone like her. For some reason, I starting talking about how I liked Danielle Fishel, the girl who played Topanga on "Boy Meets World" and now hosts "The Dish" on the Style Network. Only I couldn't remember her name and kept referring to her as "that Topanga girl." I also mentioned a number of non-famous female comedians I've worked with over the years.

You know... Topanga!

Then they asked me: "If you had to get an apartment in Burbank to tape this show on a regular basis, how would that affect your relationship? Would your boyfriend be OK with that?"

I assured them he would.

Right before I left, I asked them if the fact that I wasn't widely known would be a factor in their final decision. (Good ol' Adam, always trying to sabotage himself.)

"No," Annabelle said. "Nobody knew who Joy Behar was before 'The View.' The show will make you known."

Will, she said. Not would. Will.

They shook my hand. They told me they'd be in touch. I left Donny's office and said goodbye to the assistant and took the elevator down to the lobby and walked outside to my car. My hands shaking, I called my parents again.

"Mom," I said when she answered. "I think my life just changed."

To be continued.

Homo on the brink of fame and stardom. ♥

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