yesterday, while running errands, trying to get my new product line together in time for the show, i made a stop at the post office up the street from my old house. ever since they got the self service machines, i like it there. and compared to my new post office, part of the federal building with long lines for passports, parking about three miles from the building with hundreds of protective cement barriers to keep out the crazies, it feels like home.

as i pulled into my parking space, a gentleman in a very tricked out and shiny mercedes pulled into the spot next to mine. he rolled down his window and asked, i think seriously, if we could trade cars for the weekend. his ride was sparkling clean, so i told him i'd think about it if he'd return my car as clean as his, then grabbed my many bags of packages to mail and headed in the door.

i was at the post office for a while. despite the ease of the new do it yourself machines, they are quite slow and i had, no joke, about fifty fat envelopes to mail. after about forty five minutes, maybe an hour, i glued a stamp to the last one and headed off to see al, my printer.

i was about a block up the street when i noticed mr mercedes driving next to me, head hanging out the window. "i own a comedy club," he said, "here's a ticket." of course, this was all happening on one of the busiest four lane streets in the area so traffic was starting to build behind us. i was getting ready to turn left and in the turning pocket when he told me he was going to make a u-turn to come back and give me the ticket.

we pulled off on to a side street. he gave me the ticket, i gave him my card. he gave me his card. and i was off, but not without realizing he must have waited for me because there is no way, he just coincidently happened to be leaving the post office at the same time as me. i was in there for nearly an hour.

very flattering, yes. (although possibly a bit creepy, too)

but, this is la. the land of big egos. please remember it is very easy to hand out your card, the one with your over airbrushed picture on it, and say, "i'm a performer, come see me perform."

now, talk to me in the parking lot of the post office, then have the guts to tell me i seem interesting and offer to buy me a cup of coffee at my favorite cafe up the street, milk. well, now you are talking.


but