L.A. Story Monologues

With the help of a talking freeway billboard, a wacky weatherman tries to win the heart of an English newspaper reporter, who is struggling to make sense of the strange world of early 1990s Los Angeles.

Why is it that we don't always recognize the moment when love begins but we always know when it ends?

I like the relationships. I mean, each character has his own story. The puppy is a bit too much, but you have to over look things like that in these kinds of paintings. The way he's *holding* her... it's almost... filthy. I mean, he's about to kiss her and she's pulling away. The way the leg's sort of smashed up against her... Phew... Look how he's painted the blouse sort of translucent. You can just make out her breasts underneath and it's sort of touching him about here. It's really... pretty torrid, don't you think? Then of course you have the onlookers peeking at them from behind the doorway like they're all shocked. They wish. Yeah, I must admit, when I see a painting like this, I get emotionally... erect.

All I know is, on the day your plane was to leave, if I had the power, I would turn the winds around, I would roll in the fog, I would bring in storms, I would change the polarity of the earth so compasses couldn't work, so your plane couldn't take off.

I could never be a woman, 'cause I'd just stay home and play with my breasts all day.

Ordinarily, I don't like to be around interesting people because it means I have to be interesting too.

All I'm saying is that, when I'm around you, I find myself showing off, which is the idiot's version of being interesting.

Forget for this moment the smog and the cars and the restaurant and the skating and remember only this. A kiss may not be the truth, but it is what we wish were true.

There comes a time in a person's life when it's now or never. It's now or never. Let me read to you from this book of poems: "O pointy birds, o pointy pointy. Anoint..."

Sitting there at that moment I thought of something else Shakespeare said. He said, "Hey… life is pretty stupid; with lots of hubbub to keep you busy, but really not amounting to much." Of course I'm paraphrasing: "Life is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

Hello, this is Harris. I'm in right now, so you can talk to me personally. Please start talking at the sound of the beep.

There's someone out there for everyone - even if you need a pickaxe, a compass, and night goggles to find them.

I call it performance art, but my friend Ariel calls it wasting time. History will decide.

Let us just say I was deeply unhappy, but I didn't know it because I was so happy all the time.

So there I was jabbering at her about my new job as a serious newsman - about anything at all - but all I could think was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful and yet again, wonderful.

When I really analyze it, Trudi wasn't for me anyway. The only good times we had were having sex and laying in bed watching TV.

I've been thinking about myself and I think I can become the kind of person that's worth you staying for. First of all, I'm a man who can cry. Now it's true, it's usually when I've hurt myself, but it's a start.

Hello, L'Idiot? Yes, I'd like to make reservations for two for Friday. Saturday? Sunday? Ah good. Eight-thirty. Five-thirty or ten-thirty? Um, five-thirty. Visa... I'm a weatherman... yes, I'm on TV! Renting... I just sold a condo... yes, in this "soft market"... well, I don't see how that's any of your... the low fifties.

Well, maybe you think it's intellectual because you were raised with a banana and an inner tube… This is an intellectual-free zone.

You know, you're really nobody in L.A. unless you live in a house with a really big door.

If confusion about your love life is ruining your day, I think it's good to go over to your best friend's house and ruin her day too.