Three days before my departure from New York City, I received a sign from the heavens that my move to Los Angeles was the right thing to do. The sign wasn't a traditional one. It didn't come in the form of a blinding light or a loud thunderclap, but instead in the form of a former child television star. Pretty much everyone I know is familiar with the odd and ever-continuing connection that I have to one Mr. Danny Pintauro , former star of one of the finest television programs ever to grace the small screen...Who's the Boss? Well folks, you'll all be happy to know that this connection is ever present, as was witnessed in an absolutely extraordinary event that occurred on Nov 21, 2002.
Gina and I had attended a karaoke birthday party for a mutual friend of ours that evening. After a night of singing and drinking (more drinking than singing), we stumbled out into the wee hours of the morn on the streets of the Lower East Side. We needed food, badly, and Gina happened to remember that there was a late night pizza place right down the block. We headed out with the hopes that it was still open, and were both thrilled to see the neon lights still flashing. As we walked into the pizza parlor, I found myself being pushed out by Gina, who was so excited about something she could barely speak.
"DANNY PINTAURO IS IN THE PIZZA PLACE!!!" she yelled.
I could barely breathe. I mean REALLY. What are the chances? The odds that I would keep running into the same child star over and over and over again are slim to none. Gina calmed me down (sort of), and we forged ahead into the pizza place. It was clear that we HAD to talk to him, but since I was rendered speechless by Danny's presence, I forced Gina do my dirty work once again. She sat herself right down next to Danny and his friend, and explained the situation. It's possible that he had a vague recollection of us, but he couldn't recall anything concrete about me, our mall date, or anything else regarding our former run-ins. I fear that he might have thought were were slightly crazy, or at the very least, stalking him. The fact that his director in A Queer Carol had emailed me after seeing the last Danny-related Bitch Sessions entry luckily seemed to validate our story at least a little bit. He was very gracious, chatted with us for a while, and shouted a "Good luck in LA!!" in my direction as he headed off to an after hours club.
That was it. All doubts about my decision to move were erased. I just kept repeating, "WHAT ARE THE CHANCES?" "Good luck in LA," he said. What more could I need? It was perfect. Gina likened the experience to a religious one, stating that she might now belive in god due to what happened that night. She informed me that I might as well leave the next morning, as anything further that would go on during my goodbye weekend would just be anti-climactic.
It turned out that the rest of the weekend wasn't anti-climactic, it was wonderful. I enjoyed a great night out with my friends on Saturday, followed by a tearful goodbye on Sunday night. I headed off on Monday, sad to leave my friends, but knowing full well that I was making the right decision.
Thank you Danny. Thank you.
I arrived in LA four days ago, and have spent the majority of my time thus far either at work or driving around marveling at the fact that I own an automobile for the first time in many years. My LA experience up until last night was limited to time spent in Hermosa and Manhattan Beach, my office building on Wilshire Blvd., and the area in between Hermosa and Manhatten Beach and my office builiding on Wilshire Blvd. I ventured out last night for the first time to meet a friend in Hollywood. I made it to the Cat and Fiddle without incident, and proceeded to have a lovely dinner in an adorable Melrose Place-ish courtyard. (There's nothing like eating outdoors in 70 degree weather in December. ) Our peaceful meal was interrupted suddenly by a small commotion in the restaurant, and I realized that an entire area of the outdoor courtyard had been entirely cleared of people. We were then informed by a fellow restuarant-goer that Tori Spelling had arrived. Sure enough, I looked over into the empty area and saw a tiny waif-like girl placing what appeared to be small party favors at all the tables. We guessed that she was having a party of some sort, a fact confirmed about 10 minutes later with the arrival of a large group of beautiful people, all who appeared to be talking on cell phones and kissing each other on the cheek. Could it have BEEN any more LA?
Now mind you, I am in no way putting the Tori sighting on the same level as the "sign" I received from Danny. Really though, what better way to kick off my LA experience than to eat dinner a mere 10 feet from Donna Martin from 90210? (Another one of the best shows ever to grace the small screen.) I took it as another celebrity sign. Someone is trying to send me the message that I am supposed to live in Los Angeles. That someone is sending me the message through former celebrities who made their names known with their performances in now-defunct television programs. It appears that these signs will come only from celebrities who fell off the radar immediately following the cancellation of the very shows that made them famous. Who's next? Kirk Cameron? Gary Coleman? It could be anyone. I'll be keeping my eyes open.