I Shift Gears.

Yesterday, an editing house gave me a globally inspired, socially conscious gift. Which means I’ll now be giving up showbiz to watch reruns of “Ellen” while posting meatless recipes on my Pinterest.

Happy Laborious Day.

Driving past the Miller brewery in Irwindale yesterday, with its tanks resembling gigantic Miller Lite cans, I reflected on the true meaning of Labor Day: an excuse for white folks to behave like drunken assholes.

And It Ain’t The Exhaustion Talking.

I’m about to squeeze in four hours of sleep before my next call-time, but I wanted to share this: what I’ve discovered while shooting the last three days is that you need to have the magic of the things you love – of the people you love or the restaurant you love or the neighborhood you love. You need to find that and put it in everything you film. Otherwise it’s just telling stories.

Once Again, Out-Of-Context Thank-You Notes I’ve Recently Written To Casting Directors.

• If you ever feel stupid, remember how much you used to love your six-disc changer.

• My fantasy is to deliver a eulogy in which I simply say “So what?”

• The only way to know a teen in a movie is ashamed to be out with his parents is to have him wearing headphones.

• The Egyptians didn’t worship cats nearly as much as the Internet.

• I’ll never forget where I was the day I learned to add page numbers to a word doc.

• Not being able to sleep is the new sleep.

All You Need Is A Macbook Pro, And An Axe To Grind.

 
I got 99 problems, but I’m avoiding them all.

My friend John Kapelos, however, is taking them head-on. Check out the video he created last night from his hotel room in London.

Watching Over Us.

The best thing about trying to name a baby is realizing how many people you hate.

That’s pretty much all I know about having or raising kids. But I do understand better about a child leaving the nest, thanks to Rob Lowe. He wrote a very enlightening chapter in his latest book about dropping off his older son at college for the first time last year, and how bittersweet it was for the whole family. I gave the book to my friend John, who just flew across the country to drop his older daughter off UConn.

In the midst of their trip, John’s family went out to eat, and above their table was Rob Lowe’s signed headshot.

Now, I don’t really believe in signs from the universe, but if I did, that sure was something.

Hunting The Ultimate Prey.

There’s relentless, and then there’s game-ending, backboard-shattering slam dunk relentless.

A good article was trending yesterday featuring my friend Ted Melfi, who directed the first movie I wrote, about how he infiltrated the panic-room level reclusiveness of Bill Murray.

My Entire Life Has Led Up To This Moment.

About to start a big shoot. Cold Stone delivered.

Fascinating Shit I Have To Share.

What did all the creepy people do before the Internet?

Personally, I use it for good, not evil. And because I was in the world’s longest pre-production meeting yesterday, and didn’t have time to write a proper blog entry, I instead offer some of the more interesting things I’ve found lately while surfing. Click on each one:

After sheep are shorn, they’re sometimes outfitted in Lycra suits to keep them warm. 

New York’s Holland Tunnel used to have a police catwalk car. 

I want to adopt this kid.

Take a gander at how roomy airline flights were in the 50’s. 

Have you heard about the practical joke/drink the Cement Mixer, which curdles in your stomach to induce vomiting?

And finally, Adidas designed sneakers to look like they were worn in mud. 

Look What I Got.

In my mail yesterday: a t-shirt for the cast and crew of Road Hard. Happy to know they’re available in teamster sizes. (Up to 4XL.)

The Getty Villa: An iPhone™ Photo Gallery.

J. Paul Getty’s key to success: “Rise early, work hard, strike oil.”

Thanks, douche. Nonetheless, the man loved his ancient Italian art collection, and really wanted to share it with the public. It’s housed in a perfect setting in Malibu, and my mom was in town, so we spent the afternoon there. Some thoughts:

Back in 200 BC, I wonder if Byzantine chanting monks got laid like One Direction.

Arguably my favorite relic of all.

Encouraging my nephew to perform his first photo bomb.

In the family area, kids can hold a hard-foam sword and have their shadow image projected. Here, my nephew swung at his mom and connected so loud, a guard took the sword away from him.

The local drought has become so serious, all fountains on the premises were dry. I’m guessing by October we’ll be drinking our own urine.

Hello, Handsome.

My mom was in town, which meant the theme of the weekend was to take as many embarrassing shots of my nephew, who hates being photographed, as possible. Above is a top contender… Shark week is over, but I’m not taking my decorations down… One more story about Robin Williams, sent to me by my friend Jamie: “Robin used to bring his cars in to my dad’s old shop. My dad said he was the funniest guy ever and equally cool. He brought everybody lunch when he came in to the joint.”

Sir, If You Have Taken A Vow Of Celibacy, Then VERY Well Played.

Not Sure...

But I may have had one too many pink ladies last night.

Thanks, Showbiz.

After a super long day yesterday, I came home to the most boner-inducing item a guy could receive: an unexpected residual check. Hello, beautiful.

The Best Documentary Of The Year.

I bet if my ex-girlfriends get married and have kids, their kids will also be using my goddamn Netflix account.

But at least they can instantly-watch an amazing new HBO documentary called 112 Weddings. 20 years ago, Brooklyn documentarian Doug Block decided to supplement his income by becoming a wedding videographer. After he’d shot over 100 ceremonies, he decided to merge both of his worlds and contact all of the couples he’d shot. His idea: see what had become of their relationships and how it would affect his view of marriage.

Only eight couples agreed. (Let’s assume over 50 were no longer together, nor interested in rehashing what went kablooie for them.) The eight that participated ranged from somewhat happy to downright miserable. To his credit, Block remained unbiased; he was genuinely interested in the dynamics of marriage.

What were utterly fascinating were the instant jumps in footage of young, thin, euphoric newlyweds to older, fatter, benumbed housemates. I got an extra big kick out of realizing the wedding video of the most doomed couple was shot at my mom’s country club. You’ll always have that piggyback ride Steve gave you out the doors of Braeburn CC, Sue.

The movie may unfortunately no longer be on HBO On Demand, but keep an eye out for it to return, or become available on Netflix. See it with a fiancé you lust.

This Sucked.

A friend of mine was in Hawaii with a bunch of his friends when they happened upon Robin Williams and his wife. Robin began talking to them, and then cracked them up, and it kept going until his wife was rolling her eyes as if to say, “He does this all the time.” That’s why he’ll be missed.

An All-New Weekend Epiphanies.

Form and function: looks phenomenal, and prevents access to the gas tank.

How to ensure you die a virgin: name your cat Kat Moss.

The 99¢ Store: for all you slackers who wait until there are only 81 shopping days ‘til Halloween.

Actually, The Couch Is 200 Bucks.

It’s the DNA that’s free.

For The Finest Royal White-Trash Décor Scheme.

Powering Through.

Nothing makes you feel more insignificant than still having 85% battery at noon.

And lately, I’ve been wearing my iPhone down to a nub. But busy is the best, even if it’s prolonging my latest comedy shoot.

It seems incongruous that a short film is taking a long time to finish, but in addition to me working on several other writing assignments, my friend Chad and I wrote a lot of setups into the short. Which requires a lot of days. And along the way, we came up with a bit that we love so much, it set the bar super high. Which requires more ideas and more days. (The best problem you can have.)

Eventually, we’ll wrap. I think this one’s a winner.

I Map Out The Rest Of Zoe Saldana’s Career.

Gamora is Zoe Saldana’s second colored character in just five years. Meanwhile, I’ve only played one of the Blue Men. At this rate I’m never going to get that free sub.

So I’ll turn my focus on Zoe’s next five roles, so at least one of us can complete the Roy G. Biv spectrum:

 Red: Red She-Hulk 

Orange: Aquawoman 

Yellow: Lisa Simpson 

Indigo: Smurfette 

Violet: Barney

My Friend Jenn Texted This Pic From Montana.

I hope “stuff” doesn’t mean “Jews.”

Weekend Epiphanies.

Warm water over a sink full of ice is the new bubble wrap.

TV inside a mirror (at Chaya Beverly Hills) is now second on my bucket list behind swimming pool filled with Jello.

Another burger-shaped dessert. This cake is a work of art.

State-of-the-art window replacement.

LA Is The Best.

Tomorrow, I’ll Be Proud To Be A New Yorker.

Saturday marks the saddest milestone in the eyes of every Yankee fan: the anniversary of Thurman Munson's death.

He grew up in Canton, OH, but embodied everything a New Yorker is supposed to be: tougher than shit, always played hurt, was the first to defend a teammate. You crossed him, and you were done for. One summer, Cadillac gave Thurman and his teammate, Catfish Hunter, a car to share. As they walked to the players’ parking lot late one night, the car had been vandalized, and Thurman, incensed, whipped out a gun and began firing it into the shadows around the lot. Catfish had to wrestle the gun away.

He was all man. Which meant he wasn’t exactly known for his sartorial splendor. I love the pic above of him walking into the stadium in flip-flops. Once, in Manhattan, Thurman had his family with him as he was putting gas in his car. A guy pulled up and, not recognizing Thurman, who was dressed in a ratty, flannel shirt, asked him to fill up his tank. Thurman did.

My friend Jeff once went to New York and brought me back a Yankee t-shirt with Thurman’s name and number on the back. Any time a Yankee fan saw me wearing it, I got a knowing nod. One time I had it on while I was walking my dog, and a mom pushing her 18-month old daughter in a stroller passed me. I heard a little voice from the stroller say “Yankee shirt.”

But for all his gruffness, Thurman was a devoted family man. While his teammates all screwed around on their wives, Thurman never would. He got so homesick for his wife and kids that he bought a plane and learned to fly, so that on off-days he could visit them as much as possible back in Canton. It was in that plane, soon after he purchased it, that he crashed, 600 feet short of a runway. He had two passengers – his flight instructor and a friend – on board with him, and both were burned but survived. Even if Thurman had lived, he probably would have been a quadriplegic. As he lay there, trapped in the crash with his neck broken, his last words were fittingly unselfish: “Are you guys okay?” he asked his buddies.

No one from New York has been okay ever since.