This Sunday marked the return of the funniest show on television, Curb Your Enthusiasm, on HBO. For those living in trailers, Curb follows the life of Larry David, co-creator of Seinfeld, in his post Seinfeld life. In case you've never seen it, I highly recommend you do. If you don't have the kind of sense of humor to enjoy it, I don't expect your reading this blog.
I've noticed quite a few similarities between myself and Larry's fictionalized version of himself. On a few occasions we even shared similar experiences. Of course Larry's solutions to problems are far more outrageous than anything I would attempt in real life. My hope is to some day be wealthy enough not to care what people think and to say and do whatever I want, much like Larry.
I found myself in another Larry-like situation this week. On the show, Larry was invited to a dinner party, but when he asked who else was going to be there, the hostess admonished his breach of social etiquette. As a result, Larry mentioned the party to a mutual friend who it turns out wasn't invited, thus setting off a chain of events that set the stage for a season's worth of disasters to come. I now face a similar dilemma.
My critique group gets together every couple weeks for a pot luck dinner at someone's house. I can't often attend because of work, but this week I'm available and let it be known I make a delicious garlic roasted potato dish. I made certain to ask what was on the menu in case it wasn't something potatoes went well with. Thus, I've recieved no answer other than one person commenting on how delicious my potatoes sounded.
So what do I do? Do I bring the potatoes and risk ruining the harmony of an otherwise thoroughly planned and executed menu? Or do I show up empty handed, exposing myself to the judgment of my peers?
Perhaps a nice bottle of wine. Of course that requires a trip to the store, and the spending of money. And I don't know the first thing about wine. Do I get red or white? And then there are all these subcategories - chardonnay, merlot, chianti...I'ven't a clue.
It all makes my head spin. Sometimes having friends is too much work. I like it better when no one likes me. Those expectations are easy to live up to.
Maybe I should be more like Larry, who, when he didn't want to go to a party, showed up the next night, pretending he was on time. I could act embarrassed, and try to leave because I didn't want to impose. But surely they would say, "Come on in. You have no plans. You're supposed to be here. Help us eat the leftovers."
What could be worse than a party full of people judging you?
A party of one where I'm the main attraction.