This is great! My day could not have been more L.A.

I was set up for an interview at Nickelodeon on the Paramount Lot for 3pm. I went into work this morning and was tying up my loose ends on the shoot scheduled for next week (which has been rescheduled three times already) since my last day is Friday. Made sure our permit was underway, took one last look at the invoice for the bears we would be using, and we were set. At 1:45, just before I'm leaving for said interview, the Line Producer informs me that we'll have to push again. But we can't push again, because our animal handler is going to Africa until September.

"Well," he says, "we'll just have to find some other bears." Great. I'll just call the fucking bear agency.

That's fine, that's cool. I'm sure there are other trained grizzly bears in this town. I walk out to my car in my interview outfit (which people have been asking questions about all day...one girl asked me if I was going to temple and laughed) and get in. I turn the key, and...nothing. The battery is dead. I must have switched on my parking lights by accident in the morning. In a panic (because the recruiter in HR emphasized to me FIVE times how important punctuality is to this exec, and I have been shitting myself all week for fear that something would make me late) I recruit the aid of our wonderful PA and get my car going.

Shoot down the 101 to Vine, make a left on Melrose, and I'm at the gates. I have driven by these gates literally hundreds of times. I have always wondered what it was like inside. As an L.A. native, I'm not sure whether this is the same fascination that other people feel. This is not some mystical, far-away mirage; it's more like an imposing locked door in the hallway of the house I grew up in. I gave the guard my ID and in exchange received my pass and a map of the lot, then found parking. As I walked past regal, ornate buildings with names like Pickford, DeMille, and Valentino, it struck me that I was actually inside this personal icon of Hollywood. Bizarre.

The interview was fun, lasted about forty-five minutes. When I came out, there was a voice mail from the Line Producer at work stating that we would have to push the shoot back to the 1st. Then there was a voice mail from the Production Assistant stating that the Line Producer had stated that I should disregard his previous statement, cancel the 1st, and we could all discuss it tomorrow. Apparently, the secret here is not to act on anything anyone says right away. Wait long enough and they will reschedule the reschedule right back to the original date.

On my way home I got gas, and was waiting to turn Right from Melrose onto Wilton when something slammed into the back of my car. You guessed it! Another car. An Expedition. He drove through the intersection to pull over, and I followed. He was apologetic and had his information ready when I got out of the car. The left rear bumper of my car was significantly damaged. His enormous hunk of metal was fine. He didn't want my insurance info, he'd rather handle it personally, but I took his just in case. As I wrote down his information, his female companion stepped out of the SUV and came over. She suggested they at least get my phone number and address. She didn't have paper and I was writing on the file folder I had taken to my interview, so I just pulled out my resume and handed it to her. "It has my phone number and address on there." It dawned on me maybe that was wierd. "I'm just coming from an interview, I don't always carry them with me."

The driver seemed interested. "Oh really? What do you do?"

"I work for MTV, for this show--"

"Oh, no way! Neat! What do you do there?"

Find fucking bears. "I do Research and Coordination."

"Sounds like fun. My girlfriend is a Script Supervisor," he said, motioning to the girl holding my resume. "What kind of work are you looking for?"

"Well, I just interviewed for an assistant position...anything to pay the bills, you know." Was this dude networking with me? For real?

In the end, we managed to go our seperate ways without any scripts changing hands. I got home, kicked off my heels, and took a moment meditate on the whole affair.

There's only one city in the world where no one would raise an eyebrow at any of this.

I'm glad I live in it.