THE ENABLER
Like everyone else who works within the limited radius of the film, entertainment and media industries, the Enabler is bummed by the effects of the writers strike. So many frisee salads going uneaten at Urth, so many Mercedes S-Classes not getting the full wax treatment at the car wash. Mr. Kurtz had something to say about times like these in “Heart of Darkness.”
But a more useful casualty may be the creative tumbleweeds blowing through Beverly Hills’ Polo Lounge, the one bar that the Enabler and a sitcom-writing, white male Harvard Lampoon alumni can agree upon. The hyper-attentive waiters in starched vests and delicious comped wasabi nuts are perennial upsides, but the real reason to go to the Polo Lounge is off menu: the possibility of stumbling into filthy and newly fallow Hollywood lucre.
The Enabler runs in circles of fellow dreamers of the golden dream and tagged along at a friend’s script meeting for a bawdy frat comedy. At the Polo Lounge, a great joke told across their pink tablecloths may catch the ear of, say, Harvey Weinstein or such. True to suspicion, after hashing through a truly revolutionary pot gag, an adjacent producer-type complimented the Enabler’s colleague. “Sounds like a hilarious script,” he said. Few other local cocktails come with such garnishes. 9641 Sunset Blvd., Beverly Hills. (310) 276-2251
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