Festivus, Part XXXVII.

How much do I love food? Let’s just say I regard lunch as nothing more than a great time to figure out what I want to have for dinner.

And for me, the best food city anywhere is New Orleans. My friends and I ate our way through that town for a full weekend a few years back. In N.O., every meal is the best meal you ever had – the best gumbo, the best jambalaya, the best po’ boy. Pack the Sansabelt slacks.

Seeing as breakfast is one of my top three meals of the day (I eat seven), I was in hog heaven the first morning there, as we sat along the Mississippi River at Café Beignet and ate our weight in beignets – deep-friend pastries sprinkled with sugar. At only 25¢ apiece, you can’t afford not to contract diabetes.

The second morning, we chowed a gigantic high-end breakfast buffet at the very tony The Court of the Two Sisters. Come for the courtyard setting, stay for gravy on everything.

I’d better wrap this up, because my drool is gonna short my Mac. But before I do, I’d like to thank the New Orleans Film Festival for becoming the 37^th fest to accept The Beneficiary – the film I wrote, starred in and produced. Let’s celebrate with a sleeve of Oreos. Or three.

My Favorite Actor Search Of The Week.

From LACasting.com:

Guest Star Male / 18 to 35 / All Ethnicities need a guy who kind of looks like frankenstein. big forehead, flat head maybe. just have a big frankenstein head, then please submit. casting from photos, shooting this friday night.

And I Have A Valentine’s Date Tonight.

Not that it was a competition, but I think I beat all your asses to the earliest holiday party of the year Wednesday night.

Memo to non-black people: on a scale of coolness, gang signs fall somewhere in between leading the NBA in assists and that Hassidic rapper guy.

Filmy Goodness.

Went to a great premiere last night. It was nice to get out of the house – I’d exceeded my limit of episodes of Dr. Oz helping NFL moms lose unwanted inches.

Making the premiere even more special was the fact that I’d worked on the film for my friend John, blurrily pictured above with me (you drop the ball, BlackBerry.)

I wrote a little about the shoot last year, and was really blown away by how it turned out. John was hilarious, and the audience, which included a nice celebrity turnout, really loved it.

John’s been asking me write something with him, and it’s time to take him up on it. I’ll have to TiVo “Dr. Oz,” so please keep it to yourself if Donovan McNabb’s mom outlasts Antwaan Randle El’s.

Hold The Credits.

Talk about a slow end of the year for us actor-types – I could wet my pants in public and it’d be a lateral move.

I even got bumped from a stoplight enforcement photo. That’s me, on the left, behind the gray dot.

It all took place last week, as my partner in crime, Mark Mainardi, and I took care of some acting business in Beverly Hills. Mark executed his patented illegal U-turns at will, boasting at one point that he’s “the best driver” he knows. Well, now he’s got the fine to prove it: 450 bucks.

Congratulazioni.

Birthday Boy.

It was Petey’s birthday Sunday, and, as is dictated by tradition, I took him to PetSmart to pick out a toy.

The key to the selection process is a playoff format, in which a sweet 16 of top toys go head to head until we reach the finals.

Side note: I appreciated PetSmart’s very liberal policy of allowing dogs into the store, that is, until on our way to check out, my flip flops hit a patch of some other dog’s urine, and I tweaked my ankle just before a ballgame.

Now I don’t really have anger issues, aside from having to by law remain 30 feet away from a certain telemarketer who I visited while HE was eating HIS dinner, but I was really miffed.

You see, Petey is trained pee and poop on command. He would never let loose in a store, and if he did, I’d have the courtesy of throwing down a paper towel or two. So other owners: literally, get your shit together.

By the way, in a sudden-death matchup, the red ball with attached handle beat out the orange rubber chicken.

Pete took care of the handle in three seconds, but the rest of this thing kicked his butt. Happy birthday, son.

Festivus, Part XXXVI.

New York. If you can make it there, you can make it to a way better city – Los Angeles – for the privilege of pursuing your dream. And increase the odds significantly that you’ll bag a statuesque blonde that makes your penis want to be a better penis.

The New York United Film Festival makes it 36. Someday, when I’m peeing in a bag, and I’ve got IBS like a mother f’r, I’lI proudly reflect on how I rolled the dice and emptied my bank account to make The Beneficiary. Man that IBS truly is a silent killer.

Well, I’ve exceeded my daily allowance of penile references; time to wrap it up. Thanks, New York United. You – you’re good.