Thursday, February 23, 2017

Better Have A Damn Good Reason.

Mulberry Street pizza is my drug of choice. But what gives with covering up Garry Shandling’s autograph? That’s heresy.

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

I’d Like To Not Thank The City Attorney.

Statistics say panic attacks most commonly affect two careers: actors and hospital residents, because we have to instantly go from structure to all hell breaking loose.

Doesn’t matter. I love acting. There’s nothing better than being on set and getting to play. It’s why the outgoing message on my voicemail says “I’ll do it.”

Getting to play tends to be a rare occurrence because there are over 200,000 actors in Los Angeles, and up to 3000 actors are submitted by their agents for each role. So how do we get ourselves into casting offices?

 One of the best ways is casting workshops. A chance to perform a scene in front of casting directors (CDs), and show them your skills and personality. (Knowing you’ll behave like a pro on set is very encouraging to CDs.)

Unfortunately, a bit of a scandal has popped up here in LA, as the city attorney got a bug up his ass and is on a mission to shut down workshops. You see, we actors pay to do them, and the city attorney is under the entirely false assumption that this creates a “pay for play” situation. Pay, or no audition for you.

An actor friend of mine had this to say about it:
I don’t think the CDs or workshops (which are privately owned, usually by actors) are doing anything wrong, as actors who attend them understand what they are and are willing to pay for them. But legal things often proceed on optics – how they appear to a third party who knows nothing about how they work. To a third party, a workshop looks like a paid audition. If anything, it’s a paid general. (A “general” is a meeting with a casting director. There’s no audition – just a chance to be memorable so this person you’re seeing for the first time will keep you in mind for a future project. They’re pretty rare nowadays, because they were never as beneficial as workshops. –Matt) A workshop is the only practical way actors get to practice their craft, THEY’RE NOT SCAMS. They are paid interactions with industry professionals which provide both a chance to act and an opportunity to have that acting seen by someone who can help an actor obtain employment.
Hell yeah they are. But the city attorney went nuts a couple weeks ago and surprised ten random CDs by bringing them up on charges, that could result in a $10,000 fine and up to a year in prison. He also charged several workshops themselves, and some of them immediately shut their doors, and just like that, being an actor became that much more challenging.

It’s a crazy witch hunt that massively sucks shit, and I pray it shall pass.

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Judge A City By Its Coverage.

I heard a street preacher say gays cause floods, so I called my friend Eric and asked him what other rad shit he could do.

While the rest of the country (and really, Los Angelenos themselves) likes to make fun of LA for its “Stormwatch” coverage every time it sprinkles a bit here, all of a sudden shit got real.

After dangerously historic drought conditions hit Southern California for the past couple years, Mother Nature decided to clear her browser history. We’ve had so much rain in the last past month, reservoirs are overflowing. Above is a shot I took on Saturday of a freeway message alert about an upcoming mudslide. I’d cry about it, but liquid is the LAST thing we need.

Meanwhile, when it rains down here, it snows up north. My brother took this shot at Mammoth Mountain of something I’ve never seen before: a suffocation hazard. Apparently, my nephew became completely submerged in snow skiing through trees. I didn’t ask if he survived. Remind me, Siri.

Still skeptical? May I present to the court evidence A, B and C: 

Friday, February 17, 2017

End Of Several Eras.

The week I graduated Maryland, I bought a sweatshirt. It was extra comfy, and since that day, I’ve worn it constantly, and never been without it. It’s my Wilson.

But sadly, the end is near, and this style of sweatshirt is no longer made. You know, if I could go back in time, the first thing I’d do is buy two sweatshirts. Killing baby Hitler falls to second place.

Thursday, February 16, 2017

The Grooviest Restaurant In All The Southland.

I order so much Chinese food, the delivery guy must think I’m a middle-aged divorced homicide detective in an 80s movie.

So it’s good to get out and try new places. Barton G, on La Cienega, is not just excellent, but downright nutty. To make the dining experience fun, food is served in wacky dress-up. Above are lobster pop-tarts. They’re honestly one of the best things I’ve every tasted, and are placed on your table in a giant toaster. That said, this is one of the least preposterous dishes served at Barton G.

A napkin folded into a tuxedo is incredibly satisfying.

Below the Belt, a $46 drink for two. With novelty boxing glove and shorts, and a mason jar full of booze resting in a tiny boxing ring. Naturally.


I shot video of this. Bacon, white and black truffles, and grated parmesan. Yummy, and fun – the dry ice effect lasts several minutes, and lets you blow cool steam out of your mouth.

Order the Great American Steak, get a novelty-sized fork. Make America ginormous again.

The wait-staff is super cool, and fully aware it’s going to be an Instagram free-for-all at every table. The Canned Soup and Sandwich is a bite-sized lobster roll with tomato lobster bisque.

Almost lost in the Rubber Ducky…You’re the One – coconut angel cake in a milk-chocolate tub, with passion-fruit ducklings – is a duck in a shower cap.

Marie Antoinette’s Head. Cotton candy on a mannequin head, surrounded by pastry, fruit and white chocolate ganache. Marie wanted them to eat cake, and they do – most tables only nibbled at the cotton candy but inhaled the rest.

Studio 54. Spaghetti with a brisket and veal meatball, featuring a spinning disco ball and Bee Gees tune playing on a loop.

Mouse Trap Mac N Cheese. The most popular dish they serve. Worth getting your hand snapped off.

The bill. Bold, yet honest. I respect that.