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We want to see ourselves.

For all the reality television, there’s very little truth, very little real, it’s all edited to make people look much worse or better, for drama. And this has infected the internet and normal conversation too. People only project their best selves on Instagram, for fear they’ll misstep and become Jerry Maguire. One false move and you’re branded forever online. You may not even be able to get a job. So for all the communication we’ve got these days, a low percentage of it is truth.

Sure, we’ve got great stories on Netflix and HBO, it’s just that we don’t see ourselves on the screen.

But we do in Pamela Adlon’s “Better Things.”

No, not all of us have a history of acting. But we’ve all got a history of interacting with the world.

She’s alternately in love with and pissed at her kids. Her house is a mess. As is her life. She’s so busy raising her family that her love life is challenged and she depends on her friends to get her through, as her mother is a continuing challenge, believing everything is okay while she is fading. The parents become the child and the child becomes the parent…assuming they all live that long.

My favorite part of the first two episodes is when Adlon dreads being left alone with the other parents, having to make small talk. Maybe she has social anxiety, but mostly she just can’t relate to them, she feels different. That’s how it used to be in music. Or maybe with the creators thereof. It’s where those who didn’t quite fit in went to be honest and let their freak flag fly, an alternative path to riches rather than jump through the hoops of education. I gave up the first semester in college, when the pre-med guy went to the professor to grub grades. I got a B- in Anthropology, and it being an essay test in high school you could get it to a B no problem. But I’d had enough of that game. And when I discussed it with a classmate, wondering why we needed good grades to begin with, he said to get into a good graduate school. Right there and then in my brain I said I’M OUT!

You see there are those who play the game and those who do not. And those who do always look down at those who don’t. What, they think the rules don’t apply to them? That they can be different? And they lord their success and two cars and a garage over those who go the alternative way, but what they don’t understand is it is not a choice, you just can’t go straight, you don’t fit in.

But like Bob Dylan said, you’ve got to serve somebody, and there are regular injustices. Like the wanker director insisting Adlon pile among the dead and cough differently. While he sits in the tent and raps with his sycophants.

As for the movie set… That’s exactly the way it is! In real life you’ve got the cast and crew hanging around, only what’s in the frame is different. And it looks unreal to everybody but the cinematographer. And it ain’t glamorous unless you’re working on a studio pic.

As for shopping for college…that’s what they do these days, and parents always embarrass their children. And my older sister insisted her son get a fake I.D. to go to college.

And kids always abandon their parents when given a better option.

Adlon is loud and edgy in a world where everybody’s striving to be quiet and demure. She laments that she’s aging, but she accepts it. She’s just trying to hold it all together, hoping her kids turn out all right, that’s the dream, not becoming a tech millionaire or someone on the red carpet swanning for the press.

Now this show is on FX. And unless you study TV, which is like studying records/music in the old days, you’re probably unaware of it.

Even worse, if you pull it up on demand, you’ve got to endure the commercials.

FX is not where the show should live. But you go where people pay you.

Furthermore, you might get lost on Netflix, with its plethora of product.

Then again, it’s frustrating to watch a series. Maybe it works for HBO and “Game of Thrones,” but in this world where we expect to have everything at our fingertips, it’s frustrating to have to wait week by week. “Better Things” could be “Russian Doll” if they dropped all the episodes at once. The thought is you get water cooler moments if you drip it out week by week. But in our overcrowded society it’s a wonder if anything gets traction. You just hope that enough people are infected that they talk about it, and get others to talk about it too.

You watch Adlon and you want to be her friend. Even though you know she’d be friendly to you and not want to be your friend. That’s Angelenos, they’re surface friendly. In New York, you meet someone once, you say you’re going to get together and you do and become fast friends. In L.A. you say you’re gonna connect and you never do. It comes up again when you bump into each other, but you never hang. Everybody’s got their own world out here.

You can tell I’m infatuated with this show. Even though it’s imperfect. The second episode was not as good as the first, and so far it’s all we’ve got. But it is Pamela Adlon’s vision. She is a real person. They only made one of her. In a world of conformity she’s got sharp edges. And that’s why we get hooked.

Better Things

Farmer’s Daughter

I could come from miles away
Ain’t got
No place to stay

“Surfin’ U.S.A.” was the first Beach Boys album I bought.

Before that came Jan & Dean. I remember the first time I heard “The Little Old Lady From Pasadena,” it was from the 16 transistor boom box hanging on a cord at the pavilion at Jennings Beach where I went to buy french fries.

Some tracks you only need to hear once. In the case of “Little Old Lady From Pasadena,” it was a confluence of factors, the backup vocals, the “Go Granny Go!” and the twisted lyrics about a woman driving a Super Stock Dodge when I was years from my license and it all happened in Pasadena which I somehow did not know was the home of the Rose Parade, it was just another exotic place in California, the state where I begged my mother to move us every damn day. For a better life.

It’s where everything came from. The music, the TV, the culture!

New York was about business.

California was about lifestyle!

And I forced my mother to buy me the single of “Little Old Lady From Pasadena,” and after that I purchased possibly my favorite album of all time, Jan & Dean’s “Command Performance,” a live LP that let me dream of my home in California, even if it only existed in my mind.

The album opened with “Surf City,” and having not yet reached puberty, I had no idea of the attraction of two girls for every boy, but I certainly understood the energy. This was long before music became dark. The California surf sound was upbeat, it was about living as opposed to sitting at home playing the yet to be invented video games.

And it wasn’t only surfing, it was also cars. The story was told in “Dead Man’s Curve.” People still argue where that is on Sunset Boulevard. But one thing’s for sure, Jan Berry cracked up his Corvette and that was the end of Jan & Dean’s prodigious recording career. Oh, there were some releases from the can, but the act was dead.

And that just left us with the Beach Boys. Which I was well aware of because of “I Get Around” in the jukebox at Nutmeg Lanes and the fact that “Sidewalk Surfin'” was a cover of the Beach Boys’ “Catch A Wave” with new lyrics, about skateboarding before it was called that. They sing about the tricks and it makes you just want to ride, which we did, on steel wheels, before they went to urethane.

So I decided to buy a Beach Boys album. In mono, I didn’t want the heavy needle of my record player ruining a stereo record. And the LP I picked was their second, with a giant wave on front and pictures of the band members on the back that had me trying to comb my hair like Dennis Wilson for hours.

And just like “Sidewalk Surfin'” had new lyrics for a Beach Boys tune, “Surfin’ U.S.A.” had new lyrics for Chuck Berry’s “Sweet Little Sixteen.”

Yup, that was the title track of the album I bought, “Surfin’ U.S.A.”

But contrary to legend, the “Surfin’ U.S.A.” album wasn’t just a hit surrounded by dreck. First and foremost, it contained another hit, “Shut Down.” Back when I had no idea what taching it up meant.

And there was a cover of Dick Dale’s “Let’s Go Trippin’,” which I heard here first, back in an era where most surf hits were regional, i.e. played on the west coast only.

But it was the originals that floated my boat.

Like “Lonely Sea.” I’d lie on my floor and close my eyes and imagine that the people who made this music understood me. It was moody, it set your mind free in a way that today’s hit music does not. Not that you ever heard “Lonely Sea” on the radio.

And Mike Love might have sung the hits “Surfin’ U.S.A.” and “Shut Down,” but Brian took the lead on “Lonely Sea” and…

“Farmer’s Daughter.”

It was the second track on the LP. Right after “Surfin’ U.S.A.” It was upbeat, but heartfelt, not mindless, due to the aforementioned Brian Wilson lead vocal.

You go to see him now and wince when he can’t hit the notes. But once upon a time Brian Wilson was not only an instrumental genius, but a vocal one too. So sweet, so smooth, positively ethereal, his voice was not of this Earth, it seemed to emanate from above.

Now we all knew the joke, even at that age.

But “Farmer’s Daughter” is no joke.

It’s a dream, a memory of an encounter, a meeting, what once was, when Brian met…

The farmer’s daughter.

Glad to
Help you plow your fields
Farmer’s daughter

Might be
Just a couple of days
Clean up
Rest and on my way

There’s nothing salacious, it’s not even implied, it’s positively G-rated, but with this exquisite sound, oh-so meaningful.

So long
Better leave your land
Many thanks
It was mighty grand
I do
Hope to see you again
Farmer’s daughter

It’s not even two minutes long, “Farmer’s Daughter” clocks in at 1:53, but it’s a whole story, a mental movie. And I haven’t been able to get it out of my head after playing it on Sirius XM last week.

That’s how songs are. Most slide off of you. But when there’s a melody and a melodious vocal the track becomes embedded in your brain, and when the switch is flipped it sticks with you for weeks, even though you might not have thought of it for years.

The amazing thing is this track still exists. It hasn’t degraded over time. You can jet back to 1963 and it’s still bright, not sepia-toned. You can see the girls on the beach, the boys in their woodies, the good times. Brian and the Boys bring you right back. It’s embedded in the grooves, in the 0’s and 1’s, doesn’t matter how you listen, your life is changed. You’re convinced there’s really a farmer’s daughter out there.

And you’re ready to put on your huarache sandals, grab your board and find where the waves are breaking and smile.

The woman next to us was eating one.

My mother never cooked pork. It wasn’t a kosher thing, or maybe it was. We weren’t kosher. At the time, only the Orthodox were. A lot of the Conservatives were “phony kosher,” as in kosher at home, but outside, anything went. Kinda like if you keep your kid from candy and chocolate, they’re gonna go to their friend’s house and scarf it down while they watch TV incessantly, since you’ve banned it. The phony kosher people were the first to order lobster. But we did have shellfish in the house, but never pork, maybe my mother’s upbringing was shining through.

When it came to meat, which was a staple in the sixties, before everybody went vegetarian, never mind vegan, my father had a butcher. And my dad was proud of the steaks he brought home. That’s what they usually were. And he had a fish monger too. And my mother never cooked a steak in a frying pan, which blows my mind since the finest steakhouses prepare them that way. As a matter of fact, my mother didn’t even own a cast iron skillet, never mind oiling it. She’d broil meat in the oven. Until…

Summer, or when the sky was clear enough, even if it was January, and my dad would grill the steaks outside on the patio. In the Weber. This was pre-gas. And the thing with the Weber is if you turned the dials, you could save the charcoal briquets, they’d be starved of oxygen and go out, that was a sales pitch!

Shrimp was usually for my parents’ parties. And lobster…we ate all the time, it’s relatively cheap on the east coast. What you wanted was a stuffed one. Or maybe boiled. Or Thermidor. When you’re a kid, you try them all. And I was out one night with Doug’s family and I wondered, could I order the lobster? His dad insisted we all get it Fra Diavolo.

But not only did we not eat pork at home, we didn’t eat it out either. And we ate out quite a lot. It’s only in my later years that I’m into staying home. Nearly every Sunday night. Saturday night, we’d have hot dogs and burgers from the Rocket Drive-In. I remember dropping a burger in the snow. Well, I didn’t know I did this, but when it wasn’t in the bag, I walked out the front door and I found it, it was still pretty warm, I ate it. Saturday night my parents went out, always. Live in the suburbs and you know everybody, live in the city and everybody’s a casual acquaintance, you can be lonely. My parents had a gourmet group, theme parties. Actually, the Tempkins told us they have a gourmet group in Nashville, I’m jealous.

But usually Sunday night, we went for Chinese food. Occasionally to the Pepper Mill, a steakhouse on the Post Road, but usually West Lake, on Main Street in Westport. It was Cantonese.

This was long before Szechwan, now called Sichuan, hit New York. Certainly before Thai. And although people pooh-pooh Cantonese these days, it reminds me of my youth. The wonton soup. Dumplings with meat inside, and a few vegetables and… The reason I loved West Lake was because of the noodles. Fried flat and crispy, we’d load up the soup bowl with them. Oh, to be young and not worried about cholesterol.

And we always got lo mein as one of the main courses, my mother loves it to this day. Everybody in the family got to pick a dish. And I always wanted…

Ribs.

Now you’ve got to understand, ribs were exotic in Connecticut. You could get them at the Big Top, but other than that… There were no smokers, no pit-tenders, that came much later. The ribs at West Lake were spare ribs, red, which you dipped in duck sauce, which were delectable. I can taste them in my mind right now.

Like I said, my parents had no problem with pork, but that’s the only way I ate it, as ribs.

And then came the advertising campaign. THE OTHER WHITE MEAT! And the pictures…the problem with pork is it’s too white. As for chicken…

It used to be a staple for me. Even the round patty at Jack in the Box. But ten years ago, when I was diagnosed with CML and I started taking the Gleevec…certain foods didn’t sit right, and chicken was one of them. So now, I can’t eat most chicken. I mean I never order chicken out, that’s the loss of an opportunity, unless it’s one of those newfangled spicy joints popping up in L.A. via Memphis and Nashville, but there’s that nasty cholesterol factor once again. But they sell this chicken at Gelson’s. The breasts are HUGE! It’s called “Rosey” and it’s fabulous. Yes, I eat breasts. I used to only eat skin. Then I graduated to wings. Now I eat breasts too. But never dark meat. The thought of a thigh grosses me out. Did you read they’ve got a Brexit problem with chicken? No, that’s turkey. Same, but different. Anyway, the Britons like white and the continent likes dark and it works for the poultry growers, but now with Brexit they’re gonna be stuck with half the bird.

So now I occasionally eat pork.

Oh, I forgot, I LOVE sausage! Cooked, cold, summer… But some of that stuff in the breakfast buffets in Europe grosses me out. First and foremost, you’ve got to cook the sausage until it’s brown/burnt on the outside. Maybe I like that flavor more than the sausage itself. Maybe it’s being a Jew, our parents overcooked everything.

And I experiment with pork.

But I’ve got to be in the right mood.

I was in the mood for fish. I’d had a late lunch and this was an early dinner. But the fish portions were small and I saw that woman with the pork chop across the way and I decided to jump.

I started with oysters. There’s no oyster I won’t eat.

The salad was iffy.

And when the pork chop arrived, I wasn’t sure I was hungry enough to eat it.

And the dreaded white color when I sliced into it.

But the heavenly first bite, whew! It was like they’d candied the top. The menu said it was pear butter and sage, but I think they ladled on some cherry confection or something, the taste was delectable.

And usually pork chops are big and light in color. You can’t stop thinking of the Duroc when you eat it.

But this looked like a T-bone steak. Albeit with a round bone. And every bite got better and better.

It was billed as a “Cap on Sakura Pork Chop,” and it’s only now that I realize the cap on is the right cut and Sakura is a farm and…

I couldn’t stop eating it.

And these mushy root vegetables accompanying it were called sunchokes, and they were a great complement.

And I’m using the knife with the giant blade to cut slices and I’m savoring every bite and it suddenly occurs to me…

THIS IS THE BEST PORK CHOP I’VE EVER HAD!

And then I had to think about it, how many pork chops have I eaten in my life?

Not that many. But I know a good one from a bad one.

And then I started to think, my mother never made pork chops, and then the above memories came flashing back.