I'm supposed to be in Tahiti right now. There are some disappointing but worthy reasons why I had to postpone my trip. But most importantly, I never got Louis CK tickets for last night (and tonight) when they went on sale months ago. Because again, I am supposed to be in Tahiti. When I realized he was performing at Davies Symphony Hall yesterday, I emailed a wonderful woman I know who works at the Symphony, acknowledging that while this has nothing to do with the symphony, I really wanted to see Louis CK.
She said there wasn't much she could do, but emailed the promoter. Steve the promoter said he might have a pair of last minute tickets he could sell me at face value. I said, and this is verbatim, "YESYESYESYES!"
I then IM'd my brother, asking if he had plans for tonight, could stay out very late, and how much, exactly, he loved me.
"No, yes because I'm a grown up, and a lot."
"Do you want to see Louis CK tonight?"
Steve the promoter held two tickets under my name, and over dinner I warned my brother we'd probably be in the rafters of Davies Symphony Hall. At 9:30, I forked over the cash and the ticket guy forked over the tickets. Quickly, I looked at our seats.
"Oh. Alex. We're in Row D. These might be good. But I think they do double letters first. I think it goes Double A, Double B."
"I don't care, sis. This is great."
We were ushered to the center orchestra, past the double letters in the back. At Davies Symphony Hall, they start with Row A. When it because clear we were being shown to the center of the fourth row, at around Row K, my brother slapped me. He slapped my back hard, beaming with a look of both shock and pride.
So...we sat in the center of the fourth row. I was 20 feet from Louis CK as he performed a 90 minute AMAZING set. Todd Glass opened for him. I fucking love Todd Glass! He had a famous heart attack! He called out the bitch behind me! Todd Glass rules.
Louis CK, however, rules the ebbs and flows of my heart. I was close enough to make eye contact, to give him my visual marriage proposal. Plus, he killed it. I kept wiping cheap mascara off my cheeks. Louis CK made me laugh and laugh and feel normal and laugh.
Even more important to me, my brother was doing that thing he does when he's laughing so hard he sounds like a bird.
After the show, which ended at midnight, Alex and I walked towards the lobby. Steve the promoter texted me before the show and said he'd want to say hi afterwards. We thought he was being nice. Be that as it may, he texted again after the show. And lo and behold, came to shake our hands in the lobby after the show.
Steve said, "I googled you. I read your blog. You're funny."
But the best part was that my brother jumped in and nervously screamed, "YEAH SHE IS."
After I thought my brother was a loser for saying something nice about me, those ebbs and flows of my heart went nuts. The first time I consciously made someone laugh on purpose, really thinking about the joke beforehand, was when driving my brother to Pop Warner pee-wee football practice in my mother's 1994 Honda Del Sol (which she still drives). I used the automatic button to raise the convertible back window and said with enthusiastic anticipation of his response, "Duncan's Toy Chest? Right away, sir!"
It's a Home Alone 2 reference, one I knew only my 11-year old brother (and possibly Zoe Stagg) would get. Alex's response to that Home Alone 2 ref was the moment I realized that making people laugh felt good and fulfilling, and I should do this more often. Making my brother laugh is my benchmark.
So for the record, my brother was so proud, he smacked me. And he was so loyal, he screamed that I'm funny to a stranger. I love comedy, I love laughing, I love Louis CK. But being a cool big sister ... is a close second.