Finally, I Can Sleep At Night.

Is It Just Me?

Or are kids’ tables much better behaved thanks to Adrian Peterson?

I Give Thanks.

It’s time to celebrate the original event that gave true meaning to the holiday: Tiger Woods’ Ambien-induced crash into a fire hydrant, followed by his wife attempting to “liberate” him from his SUV by smashing it with a golf club.

And, as is tradition, I like to give thanks to everything that made my blog possible this past year:

• Custom-built children’s playhouses 
• The idiots renovating the apartment above me 
• Laker Girl outfits for dogs 
• The temporarily-relocated Actor’s Studio Apartment 
• Dude driving with a tissue jammed up his nose 
• The Hyperion Tavern men’s room 
• Runaway turtles 
• Girl Scouts selling cookies outside pot dispensaries 
• Baby seal paint color 
• Discarded diapers 
• My new little brother 
• Voicemails from Dwight Gooden 
• Halloween pumpkins still around on Memorial Day 
• Piss jugs 
• My friend Michelle’s face on her husband’s punching bag 
• The worst promotional green-screen photo my friends and I have ever taken 
• The official beer of pedophiles everywhere 
• The yogurt that makes you poop 
• New York: America’s unhappiest city 
• Burning Stoves & Stuff 
• People name their cat Kat Moss 
• Pit Bull wearing a yarmulke 
• Mashed potato and pulled pork parfait

Like Taking A Swing In The On-Deck Circle.

Trader Joe’s Thanksgiving sample just killed it yesterday. I’m ready.

The Fantabulastically-Renovated SFO Airport.

Comfy chairs throughout the terminals – such a simple addition that means so much. And makes LaGuardia feel even more like downtown Beirut.

I’ll assume this is what happened to the old smokers’ lounge.

And when in Rome: clam chowder in a sour dough bread bowl.

I Head North.

Can we all agree to just stop what we’re doing for five minutes, and get a worldwide airplane safety speech so that we can skip them forever?

That thought occurred to last night as I made my way up to San Francisco to do some casting for a project I’m working on. It’s good to be here. And I’ve got a pretty kickass view from my hotel room. Who’s up for a good short week?

Pics Or It Didn’t Happen.

Rain in Los Angeles. And my neighbor picking the wrong night to air out the cigarette stench.

Weekend Plan: Nap Like Nobody’s Watching.

34 Days Left.

How do I put removing my Bill Cosby tattoo on my Amazon Wish List?

Well, I guess moving up to the top spot is the Superman onesie I saw last. It’s just my size. It even has a cape. My best performance all year will be acting surprised when you give it to me.

The Beneficiary Bonus.

Everything happens for a reason. And the reason is stupid.

Sometimes it’s out of your control, like the Madden Curse. If you appear on the cover of the Madden NFL video game, you’ll suffer some really shitty luck. One quarterback, Daunte Culpepper, set the record for most fumbles in a season before blowing out both knees. He’s fat now.

However, it occurred to me yesterday that if you worked on The Beneficiary, the film that I wrote and starred in, you’ll experience the Beneficiary Bonus. My director, Ted Melfi, just wrote and directed the film St. Vincent. My co-star, Julie Ann Emery, was just cast as a regular on the “Breaking Bad” spinoff “Better Call Saul.” My other co-star, John Kapelos, recurred on “Justified,” and just shot a role in a film opposite Robert DeNiro. Looks like I’m up.

Oh, but one more. My friend John Hunter composed my film, and in 2012, he composed the score for the Oscar-winning animated short. That’s him above, on the right. The other day, I sent a rough-cut of my new comedy short to John, and he liked it so much, he asked if he could score it. Hell yes, sir. Lucky me.

Trading Paint With Mrs. Delight.

I love my SUV. It’s big, and powerful, but it still corners like it’s hanging onto a stripper's pole.

And now, it’s a bit less pretty. At a stoplight yesterday in Beverly Hills, I thought I felt/heard a car bump into me. I got out and found out I’d been sideswiped. Waving her hand out her window to me from the turning lane ahead was the culprit: some mom-type who’d tried to cut it way too close.

She didn’t seem very thrilled with herself, so I tried to be super nice about it, letting her know over and over again it was no deal big deal. But it’s actually a major pain in the ass.

And I doubt this was the first time she’d done this, as she went through some pretty choreographed steps, giving me her license and registration, telling me to snap photos of them, and asking me if I could not go through her insurance company. (Extra bonus: her insurance card had an expiration of 2/2/13. She claimed it was paid-up. This dingbat lies about as well as she drives.)

Oh, and note to her: take the “Baby on Board” sign and stick it on your dashboard.

Weekend Shit I Couldn’t Possibly Make Up.

Stella Barra in Hollywood features a chocolate chip cookie topped with mini Rice Krispie treats followed by a shot of insulin.

Varsity jazz? Congrats, nerds.

It’s a Wrap, on Robertson Blvd., resells wardrobe from Hollywood shoots. May the happy couple’s marriage last longer than the canceled TV show from which the bride’s gown came.

C’mon Cali – If We Just Focus, We Can Be #1.

She’ll Be Missed.

Don’t die a virgin, or you’ll spend eternity having sex with a terrorist.

Cathy Henderson-Martin died Wednesday, and it’s safe to say she passed away without regrets. She was the casting director for dozens of TV shows, including “Charlie’s Angels,” “Hawaii Five-O,” “Chips” and “MacGyver.” Plus 150 movies. And her work life only lagged behind her personal life; in the 70s, Cathy dated and lived with Mick Jagger.

I did a casting workshop with her, and she was super sweet and very actor friendly. She also gave herself one hell of a location challenge by living and working from Pismo Beach, three hours north of Hollywood. (By the way, every time she mentioned Pismo, my mind went straight to Bugs Bunny.)

It’s sad to see her go, but man, her death is one huge reminder that we’ve got some living to do.

Friends In Meth-Infested Places.

I saw a chick working at Banana Republic who looked just like my ex. It definitely wasn't my ex, though, because like I said, she was working.

You know who is working like crazy? My friend Julie Ann Emery, who starred opposite me in my film The Beneficiary. Yesterday, it was announced she’s been added to the cast of the “Breaking Bad” spinoff “Better Call Saul.” She’ll play one half of a couple described as “the world’s squarest outlaws.”

 Julie Ann is so damn sweet, and one of the best actors I’ve ever worked with, and she’s thrilled about booking this role. By the way, The Beneficiary was directed by Ted Melfi, who wrote and directed St. Vincent. Way to one-up, JA.

Like Looking In A Mirror.

Yesterday, I watched this guy completely wipe out on his motorcycle at an intersection. He skidded across the pavement, then stood up, collected himself, got back on the bike and sped away.

Meanwhile, I’m the one that fell down by the ice machine at CVS and settled out of court for a $12 gift card.

Mutual Friends.

On Sunday, pizza burnt the inside of my mouth and I don't understand why the things I love most keep hurting me.

Check that – I can always count on my friends. Especially the actors, like my friend Ariel. He and I run lines and use an iPad to diagnose each other whenever we have an audition, and Ariel never lets me down. He once got up 5:30 a.m. to help me, after he flew back into town at midnight the night before, because that was the only time I could meet him. In return, last week I coached him into booking a role on the new show “Bosch.”

My friends Bru and Aina drove out to where I was in West Hollywood before an audition. Aina read lines opposite me in the back seat of their car, while Bru directed me from the the driver’s seat. Then they dropped me off at the doorstep of the casting office.

I often think about a quote from the series finale of the British version of “The Office,” in which Tim (the precursor to the American version’s Jim) says, “The people you work with are people you were just thrown together with. I mean, you don’t know them. It wasn’t your choice. And yet you spend more time with them than you do your friends or your family. But probably all you have in common is the fact that you walk around on the same bit of carpet for eight hours a day.”

The difference for actors is that we all made the choice to come out here. To leave our comfort zones and pursue one of the riskiest businesses together. We pull for each other because we all get it, and that’s one of the hidden gems of a life in show business. These are my coworkers. I can’t think of a better bunch to spend more time with.

My Weekend Is A Contact Sport.

Ricky took me down. It goes without saying, but being tackled by a Pit Bull feels like being hit by a freight train. Only you unfortunately live.

How fancy is the new Mexican restaurant Mercado? Our server was Norwegian.

Missed marketing opportunity: it’s the PGA – shouldn’t it be white wine?

The Epicenter Of Showbiz.

Displaying wardrobe and props from the biggest film of the year on the night it opens is just one more reason the ArcLight is a baller theater.

Evolved.

Last night, I watched a crow dodge traffic so it could yank out a squirrel’s innards and people can’t eat gluten.

Crush The Police.

Every day, I drive past a gallery parking lot, featuring a strangely phallic object smashing a police cruiser. All of which fit my definition of art.

31 Seconds Of October.

 
Helen Keller wrote 12 books, and yesterday I put my shirt on inside out.

But sometimes I’m productive. In fact, I captured a second of video every day since February 12th, in hopes of merging it all together after a full year had passed.

But then… iOS 8 happened. And all my shots were lost. So new plan. Above is a second a day from the month of October. Actually, since September 27th, the day after Apple ruined everything. Click on it if you like. Unlike Apple I’m not forcing it on you U2-style.

Belated Halloween Weekend Pics.

There should be a special place reserved in Hell for those who unload old Easter candy on Halloween.

It’s official: you chicks have made everything horrible.

Finally, a grown up treat: buñuelos, at Petty Cash. Churro-style donuts in a chocolate sauce. I may switch to maternity jeans.

F’d my back up bad Saturday night, and Ricky helped me crack it back into place. (Hold the doggy-style comments. You’re better than that.)

I’M ON A PODCAST.

Hey, did you know I was interviewed for a podcast? I didn’t. Check it out and let me know what you think!

It’s on Breakthru Radio, and called “Biology of the Blog.” It focuses each week on the writers of popular blogs. My interview is interspersed between cool music selected by the host. There’s a playlist halfway down the page. Click and listen here:

Breakthru Radio – Biology of the Blog

Happied Halloween.

As per tradition, I went as a grown-ass man who refused to hastily throw together a shitty costume because of societal pressure.