Larry David: "Curb Your Enthusiasm"

In the most recent "Curb Your Enthusiasm," Larry has a problem. His ex-wife's sister wants to sell her house. But Larry is the one who purchased the house for the sister in the first place.

A normal person might say, "There is a tremendous income gap here, and I'm happy for my struggling acquaintance to make some cash on the house sale."

But Larry--being Larry--wants the money. And he isn't shy to talk about that want.

He goes to confront his acquaintance--Becky--and she sobs and compels him to change her mind. Then, possibly as a "thank you," she sleeps with him.

This leads to furor; the ex-wife, Cheryl, can't believe what Larry has done.

Meanwhile, Larry asks not to have a dinner with a certain friend's significant other--and the way this is accomplished is through a fake story. Larry "can't have dinner with semi-strangers" because of a "bleeding rectum." The discomfort, the blood: It's not something Larry wants to share with a person he doesn't know well. Through many complex and intricate twists, Larry *does* end up eating with the woman he dislikes, and though his rectum behaves well, a large splotch of pseudo-bloody red hot sauce winds up on his chair.

In this same episode--this same episode!--Larry discusses whether you can ask an Asian-American person what he orders in an Asian restaurant, whether the word "appreciate" has more heft than it ought to have, and whether you could start a business to relieve newsstand workers when they have to pee. ("Poober." "Gotta Go.")

As others have noted, Larry has made a change over ten seasons. In early years, he was at least an intermittently sympathetic shlemiel, someone who tested boundaries in ways basically any viewer could understand. More recently, Larry has become an outright monster--unabashedly narcissistic and unpleasant. He is someone who will leave his injured girlfriend to suffer alone in a hospital for over 24 hours while he waits for a flight with a first-class seat.

Here's the thing. Larry doesn't *need* to be sympathetic. A story just needs interesting schemers. You're not watching for a warm, fuzzy feeling. In fact, happiness and decency can be really, really difficult to dramatize. There's something breathtaking in the risks Larry David takes after ten seasons--ten seasons!--of filming. You can tell just by looking at the guest list: Jon Hamm, Jane Krakowski, Ted Danson, Timothy Olyphant, Isla Fisher, Lin-Manuel Miranda. These people are here because they admire David's chutzpah. They want to have fun.

When I watch "Curb," I think of the novelist Barbara Pym, who said, "Little things matter. Trivial details matter. We reveal ourselves through trivial details." This is why we have the comedy of manners. This is actually the tradition Larry David is writing in.

I also think of Stephen Sondheim, who maintained, at seventy, "I never, never grew up." Larry David is an artist who is still *playing* ....He is still someone with a childlike sense of wonder, even if the way that wonder manifests itself is vulgar and bizarre.

I remain in awe of Larry David. Awed and inspired. Of course, I'm not alone.

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...

Liars and Saints

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