And A Very Happy Amateur Night.

This card is actually from last Halloween. Some of the costumes, like “Orange is the New Black,” are still relevant. Others, not so much. Even Robin Thicke himself would now be asked, “And who are you supposed to be?”

Either way, everyone have a kickass time. As I’m obligated to repeat: please don’t try to break into my apartment. 

And if you still need a current costume, sexy ebola nurse oughta suffice:

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

• I carved my pumpkin into a smaller, worse pumpkin.

• If a vegan does CrossFit, which do they talk about first?

• One time, a woman posed without a fake mustache, and she was thrown off of Facebook. I wouldn’t risk it.

• I wonder how many times Chris Brown has been told to wait in the car.

• I told my niece, “Let’s play who can stop talking forever. Please win.”

• Sure, I had a black eye, but you should have seen the other guy. He was huge and really good at punching.

The Seventh Great Movie Of The Year.

If I could choose one super power, it would be to unsee the super hero movie Steel.

Shaquille O’Neal shooting a free throw with a grenade. I threw up in my mouth just typing that.

But if you want to see a great sorta-super hero movie, the new flick Birdman is out and I really liked it. It’s a total testosterone-fest – with really well fleshed-out characters and several terrific performances, along with a very enjoyable technical gimmick.

The film is essentially about a washed-up Hollywood actor (perfectly casted Michael Keaton) who’s trying to revive his career by directing and starring in a Broadway play. It’s really interesting to see the levels of acting that take place within the film — the difference between movie acting and stage acting. That’s one of many good layers within this film, which is incredibly worth seeing.

Michael Keaton will get an Oscar nomination. It’s really good. See it.

Two For Two.

It’s official. My nephew is becoming a character from “True Detective.”

I kinda had something to do with it, after drilling him in the mouth with a baseball on Sunday. He took it pretty damn well.

The same can be said for his sister, who you might recall lost a tooth during a tickle fight with me:

I’m considering making a necklace out of them. Mainly to remind those kids who’s boss.

Allow Myself To Introduce Myself.

I can tell how productive my day was by how much battery my cell phone has left when it’s over.

And today is kicking off incredibly fruitful, as I’m being interviewed at 7 a.m. for a podcast. The topic is my blog, and I do love to riff about it.

I’ll post when the show is available, but in the meantime, just imagine me, tripping over my own tongue this early as I botch a Q&A, and you’ll have an inkling.

“Reality.”

Stop watching reality shows. Just stop. They’re not real. Everything is cooked. But don’t ask me – ask the scout from “Finding Giants,” the NFL Network show. Right after he finishes his pretend call with his phone upside-down.

Early And Often.

With Clay Aiken running for congress, I urge all North Carolinians to vote hilariously.

And here in LA, vote the shit out of Bobby Shriver, who placed the ad in the LA Times this week, about bringing more filming back to LA. He’s one more Kennedy who gets it, and I like it.

I’m A Cutter.

I thought I was having a pretty productive day. Until I realized my phone was set to east coast time and I’m in LA.

Nonetheless, I spent last night doing more editing on a short that I wrote, and I’m really happy with how it’s turning out.

Pardon my lack of humility when I say: festivals, start your boners.

My 2100th Entry.

The best thing about writing a blog has gotta be the freedom. It has a very “high school class where the teacher had to leave the room for a few minutes” vibe.

I’ve had the pleasure of saying what’s on my mind for a ridiculous amount of entries. And on this milestone, as per tradition, I chose  my favorite five posts of the last 100:

Road Hard: The Wrap Party. There’s nothing than chasing a movie shoot with fortified wine. Black out with me here. 

And It Ain’t The Exhaustion Talking. I get a little wussy when I haven’t slept. Snuggle with me here. 

What I Think Every Dude Should Know. Educating the latest dudes who turn pro, one bar mitzvah at a time. Grow a pair here. 

Eight Guys Eat Their Way Through Wisconsin: An iPhone™ Photo Gallery. I don’t need pictures to remind me of this weekend; the gut I can’t get rid of is memory enough. Road trip with Fatso here.

Here’s To My Friend. As I wrote this on the flight back from Boston, I wondered if I should even post it. I had no idea if it would resonate with anyone. It turned out to be one of the most popular entries I’ve ever written. Man-hug here.

The Best New Show On TV.

If I was the bachelor, we’d all play Halo for like eight weeks, then I’d pick the one with the biggest boobs.

And then my new bride and I would watch some real TV – really amazing TV. “Marry Me” is the best new show on television. It’s so well written, so crammed full of jokes, so well cast with great characters played by hilarious actors that it’ll be off the air in about half a season. Because people wanna watch garbage. Reality shows.

It’s on tonight. You’ll see from the opening scene what I mean. It’s really good. Enjoy it while it lasts.

Weekend Slideshow.

Like clockwork (well, once every four years), I had the kickass celebrity sighting of Mel Brooks at Porta Via in Beverly Hills.

I like this: Wilson is now selling “Wilson” from Castaway volleyballs.

You know how pet owners begin to look like their pets? This woman at the bus stop looks awfully like the ad on the bench.

The only thing worse than getting the flu? Waiting for a flu shot at Target pharmacy – where hope goes to get violated. The good news: over an hour there, and I still never got the shot. The better news: the whole time, I had two gallons of milk going bad in my car.

The Ultimate Definition Of “F-You Money”:

My neighbor hiring a full crew to decorate their house for Halloween.

Yeah – What She Said.

Maybe I just screw up a lot because I’m a generous person who wants to make my friends look better.

But my friend Ted Melfi needs no help. He wrote and directed a new movie starring Bill Murray, and this is the week it’s getting a wide release.

It’s been interesting texting with Ted all week. I thought this would be the greatest moment of his life – launching his first huge film – but he’s actually as worried as any filmmaker no matter what the project.

Probably because producer Harvey Weinstein has been putting the pressure on, making it clear that the first weekend a film opens is everything. I thought I was rooting for Ted before, but now I’m obsessed, checking box office numbers more than him.

Well, St. Vincent actually opened last weekend, in a handful of theaters, and it wound up grossing more than any other film per theater. Like, way more.

Ted forwarded me Ellen’s tweet the other day, and it can’t hurt that she has 33 million followers on Twitter. Everybody, fingers crossed.

How About Self-Diagnosis?

Help You Help You.

Waze, the amazing navigation app, was created by a frustrated Israeli commuter who needed help following directions. So look for me to launch a navigating-women app shortly.

I downloaded Waze a couple years ago, but it was only recently that I began using it and fell in love. This seems to be the prevailing pattern among all users: skepticism, then curiosity, then infatuation.

I understand the hesitation. The interface is a bit of mess until you adjust the settings. The logo is kinda spermy. You think traffic is shit no matter what. How could this possibly help?

It helps like you can’t imagine. Waze is crowd sourced, so it’s constantly evolving, getting you where you’re going faster, often providing a different route every time. I love that. Its shortcuts take you through cool neighborhoods you’ve never seen before. It gamifies your drive. You can select from a variety of voices, including Ichabod Crane and actor Terry Crews. Another plus (but in retrospect a negative): I found out that the way I’ve driven home off the 405 Freeway ten-thousand times was longer than it had to be. I’ll kick my own ass, thanks.

And talk about intuitive. You might ask yourself why, if I needed to continue on Beethoven, it took me out of my way for one block:

Because the light at Palms takes forever. Waze saved me five minutes right there. That shit adds up.

Oh, and notice the icon on the lower left? Waze encourages you to report cops, so that fellow users can avoid tickets. Suck it, pigs.

Google knew the value of Waze – it paid $1.3 billion dollars for it. But you can download it for free. And the more of us who get on it and use it, the more accurate the navigation and real time driving conditions get reported, the sooner traffic will ease everywhere. You are a hero.

Come On Out To The Coast. We’ll Get Together, Have A Few Laughs.

When you move to a new town, everyone wants to date you because they don’t know you’re a piece of shit yet. I highly recommend it.

Actually, it doesn’t really hold true for my town – Los Angeles – because I can’t emphasize enough how amazingly supportive the people are. Case in point: my friend Aina was in a play Saturday night, and we packed the house to see her really nail a challenging role.

Then, so many friends joined Aina for her birthday celebration at Sadie Kitchen & Lounge, it had the feeling of wedding, with Aina and her husband Bru barely able to sit down as they went around our XXXL table greeting everyone.

LA is the best. Seriously, come out and we’ll take care of you. Even you, pieces of shit.

Visual Aids For Your Monday Morning.

After taking a nap in my car right before a workshop with my sunglasses propped above my eyes, I did a scene for a big casting director with dents in my forehead.

For a brief moment, I wondered if this was left in the dairy section from last Christmas.

Fancy chicken and waffles at Sadie Kitchen & Lounge. Not so fancy: me licking the plate when I was done.

Get a double-murderer off, and you too can have a middle school named after you. (Triple murderer earns you a high school.)

That Was No Earthquake, Japan.

Just the fat-guy division of the Manhattan Beach 10K.

It’s Friday, Bitches.

Someone told me to “have a great weekend,” so I said “have a good weekend,” to make sure I have a better weekend.

I pretty much have him beat, anyway. Out tonight in Hollywood, casting workshop tomorrow, followed by seeing my friend Aina in a play, then dinner out for her birthday.

In the meantime, will everyone go see Gone Girl, because the spoiler gag rule is expiring and I’d like to discuss the damn film with you? Okay? Okay.

Bill & Ted.

 
My friend Ted Melfi’s film St. Vincent had its New York premiere Tuesday night, and I talked to Ted about it yesterday. In interviews, Bill Murray said he’s still asking Ted to make a change in the film before it opens tomorrow, and Ted told me “Yeah, it’s one music cue that would cost $150,000 to undo at this point!” So it ain’t happening. Doubt it’ll affect the Oscar nomination you’re gonna get Bill, Ted.

Above is a post-premiere Q&A with Ted and the films’ stars. It was just a few years ago that Ted and I were doing the same for the featurette I wrote and starred in and Ted directed. Showbiz is the best.

Gone Grit.

Under the exact right circumstances, I’m not afraid to take risks.

Ben Affleck? Not so much. When David Fincher, director of Gone Girl (and who has become the best director in Hollywood) wanted Ben to wear a Yankee cap in a crucial scene. But Ben, super Boston fan, refused. He told the New York Times:

“I said, ‘David, I love you, I would do anything for you, but I will not wear a Yankees hat. I just can’t. I can’t wear it because it’s going to become a thing, David. I will never hear the end of it. I can’t do it.’ And I couldn’t put it on my head.” 

So he wore a Mets cap. Not very ballsy.

On the other hand, it reminded me of an article I read in New York Magazine, about Jack Nicholson in The Departed:

Jack’s sadistic Irish Southie is so evil that he wears a Yankees hat on the streets of Boston. “First of all, they wanted me to wear a Red Sox hat,” he grumbles, “but I said, all things being equal, I don’t want to. “My Yanks, they came before the ¬Lakers, of course,” says the Jersey native. “But Kristen [Dalton], my inamorata in the picture, she wore a Red Sox cap both to subtly indicate domestic conflict and to politically mollify the fans in Boston.” 

It was a pleasure being at Fenway Park when the Sox buried the hatchet for one day and honored a Yankee. And now, rivalry restored.

The Sixth Great Film Of The Year.

Instead of getting married, I’m just gonna find a woman who hates me and give her a house.

Gone Girl is not exactly the date-movie of the year (unless you’re looking to scare to your spouse straight), but it’s a David Fincher classic all the way. This one has the feel of his last film, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, in that it’s a gripping thriller with a pace that glides, and while it’s two-and-a- half hours long, I wished it was longer. Roger Ebert said it right: “No good film is too long, and no bad movie is short enough.”

Gone Girl is amazing. Bring the wife, put the armrest up and snuggle.

Home Depot’s Blush Tomato Salad Is Not Nearly As Frilly.

We went back to Laurel Hardware on Saturday, and the place does not disappoint. (The meat on the pork rib appetizer was falling off the bone.) Yes, in its previous life it actually was a hardware store, and because the owners kept the original storefront, it kinda makes place look vulnerable, like it’s kicking heroin… If the heat wave in LA doesn’t break soon, I may kill the band that gave us the song “Boogie Nights”… However, I do have a theory about getting it to cool down: a couple in California needs to end their relationship, because during every breakup scene in a romantic comedy, it’s raining

Good Beverage, GREAT Porn Star Name.

Uncle Matt, Breaking Off Knowledge.

Continental breakfast, much like adulthood, is the opposite of everything you hoped and imagined it would be.

I’ve taken it upon myself to teach my nephew early on that things don’t always go your way. Free life lessons. Like never get trapped in the third row with me when I have access to bubble gum.

Also, don’t accept a role in your uncle’s next comedy short, as evidenced in my new script:

Okay, That’s IT.

After this street sweeper gunned it yesterday morning, it’s official: Grand Theft Auto has ruined my world and I want it back.