What I Wouldn’t Give For Larry David’s Miserable Life

It's official. I just read on TMZ (and let's face it, TMZ.com has almost gained Enquirer-like respectability) that Larry David is getting a divorce. And while the news is slightly less disappointing then finding out he is not actually married to the chick who plays his wife on Curb Your Enthusiasm, it is still worth noting. The man is my idol after all. David is always the guy I point to when I am wondering why the hell I keep getting on stage and trying to make people laugh. When I’m on the phone with the electric company asking for an extension, if not for me, than for the room full of sick, fictional babies that I tell them all about down to the last life-threatening, pathetic detail, I think of Larry David. I wonder if he ever had to go through similar travails on the way to creating Seinfeld and earning half a billion dollars. When I’m ringing up a burger at Burger Tex or telling my girlfriend I will cook all week as long as she pays for the groceries, I think of Larry's days of driving a limo and explaining to his parents for the zillionth time why he didn't want to quit comedy and get into textiles. I have no idea if his parents nagged him to get into textiles, but I am sure they did plenty of worrying and nagging, and textiles seems to sufficiently Jewish. I have to wonder how many times he tried to satisfy them by saying, "Don't worry, I have an interview at Vandaley Industries next week. No, Mom, it's not textiles… Yeah, latex. That's right." When I tell a joke that bombs, and another piece of me dies inside, I wonder if I will ever get the chance to steal the response David gave the New Yorker when he was asked if he ever misses doing stand-up. And I paraphrase: "Yeah, I really miss making a room full of retards laugh for $20 a night." The twenty bucks I got paid for my show last Friday is the only reason I ate last weekend. Rather, it was the only reason I was able to dip into several of the four major food groups as opposed to subsisting on the mini-boxes of NERDS they give away in my apartment complex's leasing office. So I can only hope for a day when making a room full of retards laugh for 20 bucks is a funny memory as opposed to a short-term meal ticket. In short, I am upset to hear that things aren't working out for old Larry. I wonder if he’ll break down and get the eye-candy trophy broad that all the other moguls in Hollywood replace their wives with. I wonder if he’ll finally trade in the Prius for a Benz. But most I wonder how much longer I can cling to his legacy for a sliver of hope relating to my career. I don't really expect the divorce proceedings to affect that so much as a stark realization I arrived at recently… Yes, like me, David struggled in ignominy for years. Yes, like me he was a hard-luck stand-up comic with big dreams. And finally, he is a neurotic Jewish guy who seems to be ostracized (at least fictionally) whenever he expresses an opinion. But one thing he had that I don't have is Seinfeld to latch on to. I hadn't figured that part into the equation until about a week ago. I almost cried when I realized that. My best friend in comedy does a bit where he makes his stomach fat sing Jessica Simpson songs with Henry Kissinger's voice. Somebody call NBC. All of this blood, sweat and these tears, and I still have no idea whose coattails I can hitch a ride on to save me.