A True Hollywood Story

No, I'm not talking about that stupid show that used be on E!  This is about one of those special moments that can only happen when you live in Hollywood.

On Wednesday night, a producer-friend of mine who belongs to the TV Academy invited me to be her guest at one of their members-only events.  An evening devoted to "Hot in Cleveland."  Okay, I was a fan of the show in its first season and, as you may have read on these blog pages, I think it has slipped a bit in its second year.  Still, it's better than most of the sitcoms on the tube these days and, oh, by the way, Valerie Bertinelli is going to be there.  Apparently, it has gotten around town about me and her.  Who knew?  More importantly, TV Land executives are likely to be there and we might to figure out how to pitch two ideas to them. 

I was in.

Luckily, these TV Academy functions are more "inside" than the evenings offered up by the Paley Center, when any and every slob shows up looking to get their favorite star's autograph while they sit and chomp down a bag of Cheetos they just bought at Rite Aid.  There is an air of intelligence that you can actually feel, touch, and smell. 

The moderator of the evening is Larry King and I can't wait for him to shut up in his introductions.  He brings out Sean Hayes, one of the show's executive producers, along with the series creator Suzanne Martin.  Out comes the cast and naturally Betty White gets a long and sustained standing ovation.  But, so does surprise guest Carl Reiner who has a recurring role as her love interest.  Jon Lovitz, fresh from his guest shot as a homeless guy, is also there and I now wonder how super productive this evening could be.  I've been thinking about approaching him for a radio sitcom. 

The evening is smart and congenial and over in 90 minutes.  Larry King inexplicably leaves at the one hour mark.  Obviously, the Metamucil has kicked in.  After the show, audience members mill around the stage and try to talk to whoever.  My producer friend makes a bee line for the head of TV Land.  I try to manuever my way towards Lovitz, but I'm upended by a pesky 80 year-old who probably was Hugh Downs' assistant in 1962.

Thanks to my producer pal, the right connections did get made and we have an angle.  As we discuss the positives in the lobby, I beg off for the mens room.  No, my Metamucil wasn't kicking in, but a bottle of water was.  I run upstairs and I push open the entrance door. 

I walk right into Carl Reiner.

Holy shit.  One of the icons of television.  The creator of one of my favorite TV shows, "The Dick Van Dyke Show."  I didn't have more than a split second to come up with something clever. 

The split second wasn't enough.  I mustered up some mediocrity.

"Wow, I'm in the mens room and I see Carl Reiner."

He smiled at me.

"I'm in the mens room all the time and I always see Carl Reiner."

Good save on my paltry gut reaction.

He went into another direction.  He looked down at the typical mens room mess.  Those slightly wet paper towels that somehow don't make it into the trash receptacle.  I've never understood this.  Carl Reiner, however, finds it completely abhorrent.

"I hate when I see this.  I can't leave the floor like this."

Huh?

So, in front of me, Carl Reiner starts to clean up the mens room floor.  There had to be a dozen crumpled wads.  He collected all of them.

"Good.  Now I feel better."

And off he went.

Yep, only in Hollywood. 

The next day, I saw Rob Reiner at the Dodger game.  He has the season tickets right below mine.  He disappeared for about an inning.  I began to wonder.

Is their mens room on the field level that needs some cleaning?

Dinner last night:  Polish sausage at the Dodger opener.