First Draft

Larry David may best be known for co-creating the hit 1990s sitcom, Seinfeld, but I know him more for his role in the HBO series, Curb Your Enthusiasm. 

I never thought I’d be fortunate enough, or perhaps unfortunate enough (depending on your perspective) to meet a real life Larry David. But by God, I think I’ve found him! Well, I’ve found someone so unique, so his own person, that he is not Larry David, per se. But he fits the trope: a beautifully ridiculous trope the world, my world, needs. 

Reruns of Friends played in my household, well, my best friend’s household, much more than Seinfeld, back before I ever knew Curb Your Enthusiasm existed. My friends and I would snuggle on Darlene’s big, green velvet couch and ask each other “Which Friend are you?” Commonly, I was Monica, because I was loud, obnoxious, neurotic, and a goodie-two-shoes, controlling “Mom” like personality of the group. 

I don’t agree with all of that, at least not anymore, but Darlene fit the more quirky role of Phoebe, and I wasn’t spoiled or wealthy or pretty enough to be Rachel. 

Categorizing “Which character are you?” for Seinfeld is much different. It is not a show about the different personalities within a friend group, though the friend group does have many personalities: Seinfeld, the funny guy; George, the grump; Kramer, the eccentric oddball; and Elaine, the one-of-the-guys tough chick. The show is essentially about a group of people who are simply horrible, one way or another. Fans do not watch to be like them, they watch to be reminded that they’re not.

If I were to choose a character back in high school when I was choosing the best suited Friend, I probably would have claimed Elaine, because I too was one-of-the-guys a lot. And of course, she was a woman. 

But Seinfeld didn’t interest me. I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand that it was about more than claiming a character as your own personality. I didn’t get that it was about the nothingness, the ridiculous energy that fills the gaps between plot. 

Humor and magic in the little moments. 

Though I knew the show Seinfeld, I never watched more than a couple clips. I knew there was something about a Soup Nazi, and something about “double dipping the chip” – clips that would play before the DVD menu showed up whenever I’d watch my Blockbuster home movies. My knowledge was limited. 

I liked Kramer because he seemed goofy and funny and I liked his free flowing, crazed hairdo. Later in life, I’d have a best friend for a little while who had similar mannerisms and a similar haircut and stature of Kramer, and I’d think by God, I’ve found the real Kramer! But it was no chicken vs. egg scenario; Kramer came first. So it can be assumed that many of my friend’s mannerisms were in fact not his true personality, but rather his own reimagining of Kramer. 

And when I say by God, I’ve found the real Larry David! I also know that he has never seen Curb Your Enthusiasm. He is the way he is because that’s just who he is. Truly. There is no attempt to fit a trope, just an attempt at personal authenticity. Satisfaction in ridiculousness, no matter the situation. 

I don’t think any of my friends have ever been funny-funny-haha, cracking jokes nonstop like Jerry Seinfeld or Friends’ Chandler Bing. I’m sure many people would love to fill this role, and too many people self-proclaim as the “funny friend” when they’re not actually that funny. But there is a character on Seinfeld who no one wants to be, no one thinks they are, but he may just be the best. That, my friends, is George Costanza, the fictitious version of Larry David.

When I think of George, I think of a bald grump screaming “I was in a pool!” when caught with his pants down, or calmly boasting about winning “the contest,” one of TV’s most taboo airings back in the day that got everyone talking the next day at the office, slyly giggling about matters of masterbation. 

George is funny. In a way, funnier than Jerry Seinfeld. Not in a laugh-with way, but rather a laugh-at way. And that’s okay. These tropes are necessary.

Larry David is pretty open about basing George’s character after himself. And after watching Curb Your Enthusiasm, in which Larry David plays a more absurd version of himself, it is apparent that these three characters, that of George, the fictitious Larry David, and the real Larry David, are all the same trope: an old curmudgeon who sees the world one way, and that is his way, no exceptions!

I had never even heard of Curb Your Enthusiasm, sometimes better known as just Curb, until I started dating my then boyfriend, nearly a decade removed from my high school Friends binging days. It was one of his favorite shows. So, being in love and a people pleaser, I let him show me a couple episodes. (Maybe these traits do in factmake me a Monica!) 

I was instantly hooked.

It was so different from other sitcoms I was used to, such as Friends or How I Met Your Mother. The show was still heavily character-based, but it was more situational, more absurd. I suppose every sitcom is “situational” as the name is a short version of “situational comedy,” but Friends and HIMYM seem more like they should be called interpersonal comedies. Interpercoms. The shows are less about what sort of shenanigans they get themselves into, and more about what kind of relationships they find themselves a part of. 

Larry David has relationships, sure, but what drives the show is his one-of-a-kind, can only be Larry David, way of reacting to situations. He is… well, ridiculous.

His wife in the show, based on his real life ex wife, is a humanitarian, a philanthropist, aiming to be kind to the rest of the world. The opposite of Larry David who aims to instigate conflict and ruffle feathers for his own entertainment. 

But there is redemption for Larry, yet, regardless of how it sounds. 

I was reminded of Larry David on the bus this morning, as I sat behind a man with headphones in, cackling and essentially yelling on a no-longer-private call. The whole bus listened, irked, ready for someone to tell this rude guy to shut the hell up and have a little common courtesy! If life were a TV show, then here would be the moment: enter Larry David.

In one episode of Curb, Larry is sitting in a restaurant, and the guy at the table next to him is chatting loudly on his phone, utilizing his bluetooth headset. Larry is visibly annoyed, and decides to start talking to himself, loudly, as though he were on the phone. The guy on the phone stops Larry, asking him to quiet down, wondering what he could possibly be doing. Larry fights with the guy, claiming he’s the one being rude. 

Of course, the phone guy is being rude, and if Larry David were on the bus this morning, he would have been a hero! Perhaps we all would have collectively pushed the phone-chatter off the bus, and given Larry a robust round of applause. 

It is in these simple ways that the absurdist becomes the hero. The person who says what everyone else is thinking. And that is Larry David. 

That is my friend, K. 

Now, don’t get me wrong, Larry David is over the top ridiculous about how he goes about things. He loves to argue, to claim his way, his opinion, is the only logical conclusion, and dealing with someone like this in real life is a chore. But damn, is it entertaining. Much more entertaining than watching a bunch of friends date each other. 

A couple weeks ago, K. and I stood in the line at Angelo Braccato, a wonderful little Italian ice cream store in New Orleans, and though the treats are delicious, the service is meh and the line takes forever. K. got impatient. He hates waiting in line. I heard him huff and puff and growl under his breath. I saw his sighs, the eye rolls, the scowls towards the young workers trying to telepathically tell them to hurry the hell up! And I wouldn’t put it past K. to tell them just that, like when he told the cashiers at Morning Call to “choke on it” referring to the 50 cents they fumbled and fretted over getting back to him. 

I am reminded of when Larry David is stuck behind a woman at his local ice cream store in an episode of Curb. She is tasting the different flavors. Every different flavor. Until Larry has had enough, and calls her out. Just like the restaurant phone chatter. 

K., like Larry David, is fearless. They are curmudgeons. They view the world as their world, do things their way, and say what everyone else is thinking but too polite to blurt out. The world, the one the rest of us are living in, needs people like them. Our not-so-silent heroes. 

To say someone is nice seems like a compliment. But perhaps it’s an insult. Perhaps the bold, the blunt, the matter-of-fact citizens are who we should strive to be. How we should strive to act and react. 

They are free. Freely themselves, and freely roaming in our world, while dictating a world of their own. 

Larry David’s fictional wife can’t stand the fact that Larry is the way he is. But, she also knows who she married, and she can’t help but love him, though her reactions seem anything to the contrary. Perhaps opposites attract. Or perhaps she realizes that Larry needn’t be “nice,” he needs to be real, be absurd, fill a vacant role in the polite, mind-your-manners way of thinking too many of us get stuck within. 

Then again, Larry David will always be his own worst enemy, and sticking to his guns, stuck in his own ways, can and will be the death of him. Like when his fictional wife calls in a later episode from her plane, caught amidst extreme turbulence. She calls Larry to say goodbye, thinking she’s going to die. And all he can focus on is the TeVo guy in front of him! He ends the call, too consumed by his own meaningless drama. To which his wife comes home and says she wants a divorce. 

In real life, this couldn’t possibly be funny. It’d be ridiculous, infuriating, disheartening. And it makes me wonder what the real Larry David is like with his wife.

But maybe the point is that even during the darkest times, we need to laugh. Even if it has to be at ourselves. At our own ridiculousness. People like Larry, people like K., will choose to giggle, to cackle, at their adversities. They choose to not care about the outcome, but rather ride the waves, knowing full well exactly who they are and what role they’re destined to play. 

Fiction shows a window into the soul, a glimpse into reality, stretching it and making it more absurd, more dramatic, than the real world. The truth remains the same, though. Merely the facts differ. Fiction shows us what we’re thinking and too afraid to say aloud – the actions and reactions we’re too chickenshit to bring into the world.

That is unless you’re Larry David. 

Or George Constanza.

Or K.

I’ve since watched episodes of Seinfeld, and though I prefer Curb Your Enthusiasm, I appreciate the humor of Seinfeld much more than I did in my adolescence. Back then, I cared about defining myself, finding solace in knowing there were people, personalities, tropes like me. Or I’d worry in not finding a character who fits, for I never felt like I was precisely a Monica or Phoebe or Rachel, entirely. 

And also, when younger, finding a mate seems more important. Love stories crowd the queue. But life isn’t all about love stories, it’s also about the mundaneness of the everyday. And at least in Larry David’s world, he brings a spark, some ridiculous enlightenment, humor, and magical absurdity to the everyday, making it more bearable for him, and more entertaining for us. 

The world is overpopulated with Monicas. It needs more Larry Davids. 

To act like Larry would be a disservice to myself, for I am not him. That is not my trope. I’ll leave that one to people like K., though there really isn’t anyone else quite like K. And I’ll find solace in not being a Monica or Elaine or HIMYM girly. 

I’ll laugh at the absurdities that enter my world, and smile, hoping tropes like Larry David exist and will swoop in to save me from mundaneness. Life is stranger than fiction, somehow, and the ridiculousness that revolves around me brightens even the darkest, most lost of days. 

I turn on the TV, searching for something to watch – something about nothing that mirrors life, mirrors situations, mirrors identity.