California Dreamin’

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• June 11, 2017

When I was in college (ten years ago?), my family took a vacation to San Diego.  It was the last family vacation we’ve been on.  I remember we bickered a lot that trip.  My sister was your typical teenaged nightmare daughter, my brother was an ass, and I, as always, was an absolute pleasure (sarcastic know it all).

I knew leaving our house, for a smaller condo for a week, would lead to our family arguing way more.  At least at home there were so many places to escape to.  Mostly, it was my sister fighting with my brother.  Or my sister fighting with my mom.  Or my sister fighting with me.  Sometimes, my brother fighting with my Dad.  But I was still excited to go to California.  My brother, father, and I are surfers.  With my long blond hair and quiet disposition, I seem laid back (though this is a mere facade), and people have always often thought I was from the west coast.  Also, I was a film nerd, so I romanticized the west coast a bit in my mind.

San Diego is a beautiful place.  So are the people.  I remember being insecure on the beach in San Diego, feeling like I was in a TV show because every one was too pretty.  While the people were beautiful, they also seemed quite dim.  One of my good friends just got back from San Diego and he said most of the conversation that takes place is about fish tacos, and I think that sums up San Diego perfectly.  My brother and I were already avid pot smokers, but even we thought the San Diego natives had smoked themselves retarded.  “If we move here,” I told my brother, “I’d be the smartest person, and you’d be the second smartest person.”  We laughed about it, but I think to this day that might still be true.

Because I wanted to, we did make a day trip up to LA.  No one else in the family wanted to do a movie set tour, so I was ruled out (still kind of sore about this, guys).  With the exception of my brother, we are all huge movie fans.  It actually kind of shocks me my brother isn’t into movies as much as we are, because we watched movies all the time.  My sister and I were obsessed.  Action comedies were usually my favorite when I was younger before I’d really fall for strong characters with depressing stories.  I used to get so excited watching movies as a kid, I would get up from the couch and jump up and down for minutes at a time.

But LA disappointed me.  I couldn’t put my finger on it at all.  It was like all the shallowness was true and nothing else.  This was before I was a comic or even entertained the idea of pursing screenwriting.  That was much more of a pipe dream to me.  I think I had self esteem problems.  But I missed New York.  Because to me New York was properly captured on film, TV, and literature.  The good and the bad.  And there’s A LOT of both.  But there was an honest grittiness to New York, and New Yorkers that was sexier.

Hands down, without a doubt, the best part of that trip, and a highlight of my life was surfing with dolphins.  A life long ocean animals lover, of course I’d long ago fallen for the adorable, clever, sea mammal.  And while we were surfing in San Diego, the dolphins would come up right next to you.  Close enough to touch!  And they look you in the eye.  I’m sitting on my board, looking into the eye of a dolphin, and while we can’t communicate, neither is afraid of the other, we just sit there in the water with an understanding that neither one of us is harmful, and we’re both curious, and playful, and the gears in both our skulls are spinning.  I think I actually said, “whoa,” like Keanu Reeves.  That was worth the whole trip, and maybe even my whole life.  As we surfed, the dolphins did too, enjoying the waves as much as we did.  It was incredible.  I’ve never done anything good enough to deserve such fortune.

Some years later, I would return to LA, just for fun and to check out the comedy scene.  It’s always fun to do comedy in a new city, but New York is comedy mecca and I was happy to be grinding it out in my home state, despite the fact that every winter I tell my friends I can’t take the winters and I’m moving to LA. They are sick of hearing it.  They know I won’t go.  Not unless I get a writing job.  I’m too much in love with New York to leave without a really good reason to.

In one week I go back to California.  Two weeks to my official eight year comedy anniversary.  Without revealing too much, or bragging (because these things rarely, if ever, come to fruition), I’m headed to the west coast to pitch sitcoms(s) I wrote.  Even I have to break from beating myself up and berating myself for falling short of much too high expectations and acknowledge that I’m in this position because others have helped me out, and they did so because I’m a self disciplined, determined little punk with some talent.  Some days circumstance seems all together too apropos with a serendipitous air, and I’m mostly very happy (with waves of dizzying anxiety), I have to remind myself I’m still a cynic and this probably won’t work out, and whatever meaning I’m drawing from scenarios is because I’m in the midst of something that’s meaningful to me.  Then again, that right there is the actual meaning to our meaningless existence, isn’t it?  Finding what is meaningful to our deepest core, and finding kindred spirits to enjoy it with.

Like that day in San Diego, watching the dolphins surf waves together, I felt like they already figured that out.