The ideal brunch

Los Angeles has its shortcomings. Some are shared with almost all big cities (traffic, more traffic), while others are unique to this weird desert city (rattlesnakes on hiking trails, winters that are too sunny and warm). But despite its shortcomings, LA is also the place where the sublime can easily and surprisingly wrap itself in the clothing of the utterly banal.

A few weeks ago, I woke up on a Sunday morning, went for a hike (dodging a few sleepy rattlesnakes), did some tai chi in the sun (please keep in mind that since moving to LA, I’ve become a perfect little LA cliché; a sober middle-aged vegan who alternates between yoga and tai chi), and took a look at my phone.

I had the usual texts from sober friends — ‘Going to AA, want to come?’ — and non-sober friends — ‘I’m so hungover, please kill me’. There was also one from Leo DiCaprio. I’d recently sold a house to Leo’s parents, and had in the process become friends with Leo. (As an aside, before selling the house to Leo’s parents, there was a brief bidding war between his family and Morrissey. In Los Angeles, bidding wars on houses take place between bold-face vegans.)

The text I received from Leo said simply: ‘Having brunch with Jane Goodall, do you want to join us?’ This was, to use caps, A BIG MOMENT.

Growing up, I assumed I’d spend my life teaching philosophy to bored community college students while making music in my spare time. I never thought I’d have a record deal, or get the chance to meet, and even work with, some of my heroes. I toured with David Bowie, played ‘Walk on the Wild Side’ with Lou Reed, traded emails with Leonard Cohen, and once had Christmas with David Lynch.