Bamboozled in LA

I went out with Kelly last night. I had wanted to go to Joxer Daly's, but she insisted on going to Fabio's on Abbott Kinney, as she has a crush on the waiter. (When I complimented her prowess at hitting on the waiter, she confessed, "Well, I had two shots and a glass of amaretto before you came by.")

There were two guys celebrating a birthday at the next table. They ended up buying us each a glass of port.

"So, what do you guys do?" Kelly asked.

The one guy hemmed and hawed and seemed embarrassed. But then, as if deciding to make it a game, he perked up: "I'm either really busy or I have nothing to do."

I guessed: "Actor or screenwriter?" He shook his head. "Director?"

He looked embarrassed again. "Art director."

"So who is your favorite director?" I asked.

"Oh, well, that's hard to say. I mean, I actually haven't worked with too many."

"No, influence-wise."

"Oh." He looked relieved. "Scorscese is good."

I asked him if he liked Kurosawa (after all, he's pretty artistic), and he looked at me blankly.

Then he started yanking off the tops of the baby bamboos growing next to us. His friend, who had a vague accent, said they were like those lizards where if you yanked off their tail, it would grow back. He said, "I used to do that as a kid."

"The tail? Oh jeez, all this time I thought it was the head."

No one laughed. Kelly just smiled wanly. Then I remembered what my mom told me: "Kellas, beautiful girls don't need to be cracking jokes all the time."*

They left.

"I can't believe they didn't know who Kurosawa was," said a voice from beyond the bamboo. "God, anyone can call themselves an art director nowadays."

It turned out the voice belonged to a 23 year old cinematographer. He and his friend seemed nice enough, so I chatted with them for quite a while. (All this time the waiter was refilling our wine and sometimes sitting down with us. I poured mine in the bushes, as I had to drive.)

I ended up leaving Kelly there, still waiting to get the waiter's phone number at 11:30 pm.

--

*That may sound conceited, but remember, a mother is obliged to call her daughter beautiful.