What My Summer of George might look like…

There would be a lot of kissing. I mean, if I’m writing my life in the image of one of the greatest American sitcoms, the characters including the main character (me) would be happy and in love…Doesn’t love and paying your taxes on time conquer all?

All kidding aside, it’s almost a wonder how much Seinfeld makes me laugh at this stage of my life. When it first came out, I was still a teenager and, who are we kidding, I, like many people of my generation and older didn’t get it, at first. I’m not sure NBC knew what to make of it in the early days, wondering why they were bankrolling a show about “nothing”.

But, as the seasons went on, the show picked up steam, both creatively and in the ratings. It was attracting viewers like moths to a funny flame and people religiously set aside their Thursday nights to be entertained by the inexplicable hilarity these four characters were embodying.

And I, ignorant as I was, still didn’t quite get it.

In fact, I was an undergrad at UCLA when the show was coming to the end of its incredible near decade run. I thought it would be funny to call everybody I know on the phone (when it was still cool to do that on a landline and you had to watch TV, not a computer at a specific time) and annoy them by asking what they were doing while Seinfeld was wrapping up. In my time zone, every one of my numerous friends barked they couldn’t believe I was calling during the Seinfeld finale before furiously hanging up. My friends in NYC and on The East Coast were in bed, either asleep, satiated by the creative end of the show involving jail time for the principals or tossing and turning because they couldn’t believe that great a show could end on that hard a note. Seinfeld enthusiasts are still debating the last episode 30 years on, particularly since one of the creators, Larry David, closed out his hugely popular Curb Your Enthusiasm in practically the same way. A creative F*** You to all who still don’t get him, perhaps?

And yet, somewhere between my adolescence and some of my dreams dashed, I started watching Seinfeld and really loving it. Actually, I started reading it first. Jon Adler gave me a book for a birthday in my 20s that was a collection of Seinfeld scripts. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I didn’t watch the show, but made sure to pick up his sweet present for a read. And I laughed. I laughed a lot. I remember particularly laughing at the character George Constanza’s lines and his penchant for calling himself Art Vandelay when he was pretending to be somebody that he wasn’t, most notably an architect or a marine biologist, usually in hopes of attracting a woman.

George had a lot of wonderful comedic gems. There was the time he had to justify the shrinkage of his male organ after a swim when Jerry’s girlfriend accidentally walked in on him in the buff. Or the episode where he nursed a squirrel back to health after striking it with his car. He had constant friction with his parents and their neurotic behaviors and holidays like Festivus, his father’s self declared alternative to Christmas. With parents like his, it’s no wonder he tried to once pass a bad wig off as hair making him bolder and taller or why his wallet was full of so much paper he sat on a slant. Or how he almost instantly regretted proposing marriage to the wealthy, snobbish Susan (a former lesbian and NBC executive) while devising ways out of walking down the aisle, fantasizing about having a relationship with the actress Marisa Tomei who had a penchant for stocky, bald men.

Fortunately, George was a cheap character and skimped on his wedding invitations, picking the least expensive and most highly toxic ones offered by the stationary store. Susan, being forced to lick and close all of the envelopes by herself, dies from the chemicals and toxins within the envelope’s adhesive strip that entered her bloodstream. Once Susan was no more, an oddly relieved George was free to declare the summer following her demise, The Summer of George. He didn’t care (that much) that he was not the benefactor of Susan’s vast fortune since they hadn’t actually tied the knot. He was going to induldge (which meant food) and behave in a gluttonous way (which also meant food) when other New Yorkers were hauling it out to The Hamptons for the humid summer months. And, as usual, comedy ensued.

Inspired decades on, I’ve decided that this is officially my Summer of George. Summer of Firdosi, which already means heaven in Arabic, isn’t quite as amusing. It doesn’t have the same punch. I want to be like George. I don’t have a dead fiancé fortunately, but I do have a marriage that has seen better days. (I say that both truthfully and comedically. My husband reads these musings and doesn’t find my posts as humorous as they are in my head…) That’s okay, I’m not one to be able to discern between fact and fiction all that well as my job is to laugh. And make others smile. So, this summer, I want to write. Of course, I write everyday, but from June to August 2024 I want to write and right with the wild abandon only achieved by characters in a great sitcom. I want to laugh uproariously with my own personal and accompanying laugh track, even though I tend to already do that on a near daily basis. Plus, I want to craft my great American screenplay with Malibu sand between my toes. And I want to take a moment and look back on the story of my life with pride, humility, and gratitude.

When I was young, I didn’t know how to appreciate episodes like The Summer of George, which is funny and ironic in itself. I was too focused at UCLA Film and writing my own story. Nobody does that effectively in a bubble. I was getting help and supported by my incredible professors, by my darling peers (the ever attentive Jason Preston, another UCLA MFA, did line notes to help me perfect a script when he hardly had the time and Dan MacCannell, also a talented MFA grad, still believes in me enough to want to teach together. I’ve always been intimidated by his genius) and by my mentor. UCLA helped match a graduate student (me) with a working professional generous enough to want to impart wisdom about the business and its pratfalls prior to graduation. I was blessed enough to be matched with Matt Goldman, an extremely talented former stand up who had a successful career in television, even winning an Emmy for his work. So many years on, he turned into one of the best friends I have ever had in my real and reel life. Through all the plot points and pain, he was there for me as a writer and as an incredible human being. One of my favorite people on the planet, Matt and I even talk about the possibility of writing something together someday. Oh, and another funny, full circle kind of note, Matt used to be a staff writer on…

Seinfeld.

I hope he and all of you are planning your own Summer of George 2024! It’s an election year, might be the best summer you can count on for the next four…Sheesh…