Top This Tonight, Kids.

Actual pregnant woman that habit.

Antithesis.

Idea: a fake ID that says you’re only 14 so you can get cheaper buffets.

That said, on Friday I was treated to weekend yummy burgers catered by the Big Wave Grill food truck.

I think my weekend was a tad better than others’.  My friend Diana was up in San Francisco for a wedding. Here’s our text conversation:

ME: How was it? 

DIANA: It was really good! Until… toward the end of the night, the newlyweds tried to pull off the dirty dance move, in which the chick is lifted up into the air. The bride weighs nothing and acting like she was an NBA player and flew over her husband, who’s about 6’, tumbled over his arms, fell on her tailbone and then her forearm. Poor thing looked like she had a golf ball sticking out of her head. 

I checked in on the bride’s condition this morning:

DIANA: She’s still in the hospital as they learned she fractured her back. 

 It’s the day every little girl dreams about.

We Interrupt This Moment Of Bliss.

Me, before I meditate: “I just wanna kill someone…”

Me, after I meditate: “…and I know EXACTLY how.”

That was me, weeks ago. But now that I’ve meditated for 40 days straight, everything’s changed.

For real. I downloaded the app Headspace, and I swear by it. I’m calmer, more focused. Stress is temporary. I have an entirely new relationship with anything uncomfortable.

I’ve reached a point in which I have to meditate behind closed doors, because Ricky started wanting in on the action. There he was, every morning, head and paw in my lap. Dogs can sense love. While I appreciate it, I had to relocate.

Download Headspace. It’ll change your life. At the very least, you’ll take 10 minutes a day for you – no phone, no Internet, no TV. At its best, you actually can change the neural transmitters in your brain. I am, right now. Join me.

He’ll Be Missed.

I need professional help. I think a butler should do it.

A butler with the sass and charm of Robert Guillaume on “Soap”. Tough to find these days, after Robert passed on Tuesday. He had a really great career.

Robert won two Emmys and a Grammy, and was nominated for a Tony. He voiced a character in The Lion King. But my favorite role of all was Isaac Jaffe on the TV show “Sports Night”.

Isaac was the executive producer of an ESPN-type sports channel. Early in the show’s first season, one of his new employees had a breakdown and was hospitalized after being asked to produce an episode of a hunting show. Robert really came through on a great monologue:

 

Warm, Much?

Stop trying to get me to fight global warming. I’ll believe it when the remaining 3% of scientists are on board.

Sure, it was 114° in Newport Beach yesterday, the hottest day in ten years here. And it was late October – that time of year when I have zero excuse for being so sweaty. Still not convinced.

But then, disaster struck:

At 8 p.m., a transformer on my street blew up and caught on fire, which knocked out our power, and I couldn’t use fans or AC. I was now so sweaty, it would be biologically accurate to call me amphibious.

It took a crew most of the night to repair, so I’m operating on about two hours of sleep. Oh, and I was always 100% on board with global warming. But today, if you question it, I will punch you in the throat.

They’re A Little Stringy.

Lesson Of The Weekend.

No matter where you sit, stand or lay, a dog will manage to step on your nuts.

It Begins.

Opening any day now, right down the street from me, is a brand-new Shake Shack. The proximity to my gym is both troubling and comforting.

I thought it blasphemous when Shake Shack first arrived in LA, in West Hollywood, and my friend Jason claimed the burgers were better than In-N-Out. I’ll be damned, but he was right. They’re amazing.

So are the crinkle-cut fries, the chicken shack sandwich and the shakes. But this weekend, I’ll be enjoying a burger just the way I like it: drunk, on the floor, David Hasselhoff-style.

I’m Just A Boy, Standing In Front Of The Toilet Paper Aisle, Trying To Decide Whether I Want To Wipe With A Duck, A Bear, Or A Cloud.

Act III.

I want to have the kind of hope my dog has when my nephew walks around eating chips.

The anticipation is building as I see my sitcom’s finish line. I’ve written seven episodes, and am now choosing two to hone and produce. It’s a beast. Ask your doctor if Adderall can help you vigorously scrub your floors and alphabetize your clothing instead of writing.

Back to work.

Greatness Does Await.

I feel like being in a fraternity is like being a Yankee fan – it's super cool until you realize everyone HATES THE YANKEES.

And right now, the Yanks have overcome all the odds (they were picked to come in last place while the team was being rebuilt) and are playing to get into the World Series.

But playoff baseball, with the threat of elimination constantly looming, is tough on the tummy. Win, and you’re relieved. Lose, and we self-swaddle.

Still, it’s my favorite time of the year. And those around me root for the Yankees if only to ensure I’m more bearable to be around.

Game 4 this afternoon. Pre=game Zantac at 4:30. Join me.

It Got Ugly.

Vodka giveth and vodka taketh away. It giveth me a hangover, and taketh away my pants.

I swear it started out nicely, in front of the fireplace at The Wellesbourne, but progressed to me waking up still drunk so I could get in a workout in before the Jets game. (10 a.m. games in California are mostly a blessing, occasionally a curse.)

By the time the game began, so did my hangover. Along with my breakfast burrito at Sharkeez, I thought, “Surely this single glass of water will reverse what I did to my body last night.”

 Not so much. But in retrospect, worth it. Hope you’re weekend was semi-memorable, too. 

Rewrite.

I stopped by this car commercial shoot to let them know that “German engineering” is a major reason why I grew up without any cousins.

Owie.

An open wound, and me without a salt shaker.

I kid. I would never do that to my friend John Kapelos. He’s in Toronto right now, shooting a film, and texted me this pic with the message, “Cut myself shaving.”

I replied: “But I shoot with this hand”:

Just A Shot Away.

You’d refuse to fight me if you saw how little I cried during my flu shot yesterday.

As much as you might look forward to taking three days off and looking like you were on a diet for six weeks, I highly recommend getting one as well. Dig this: the last time I had  the fluwas March 4, 1998. That was also the last time I vomited. That’s right – 7161 days ago. Cal Ripken’s streak is easily more attainable.

If you won’t do it for your health, (and the health of your coworkers), do it for the snazzy, red Walgreens band-aid. It’s in my scrapbook. 

May All The Planets Align For Us.

Auditions are not easy. Though I do like the ones for detergent commercials, just so I can splash brightly colored food on myself on purpose.

Auditions are even harder to land, so you have to be proactive. In a recent Esquire interview, Josh Brolin talked about how he willed his way into a life-changing role. It’s pretty damn cool:

In 2006, Brolin scored No Country for Old Men, which he cites as the turning point of his career. And the thing is, the Coen brothers never even invited him to audition.

At the time, Brolin was in Austin filming Grindhouse, the horror flick directed by Robert Rodriguez. One morning, he had breakfast with Sam Shepard, and Shepard told him about this new book No Country for Old Men. Shepard said the Coen brothers were doing it and he hoped they wouldn’t mess it up.

Brolin hit a bookstore after breakfast, picked up the novel, and read it that day. He was intrigued by Chigurh. “I mean, I know I’m not gonna get that part.” His agent said there was no way he could get him an audition. “That’s a given. I know I’m not going to be in this movie, but we’re in the dreaming business. I was like, screw it, I’m going to do my own audition tape.” Rodriguez lent Brolin the camera he was using to shoot Grindhouse, and what do you know, Quentin Tarantino showed up that day and offered to direct his audition. That tape led to a reading and to the role of Llewelyn Moss.

Careful When Sharkeez’s Windows Are Open.

My biggest worry, as I wondered a little too loud, “Look at the crazy woman taking her parrot for a bike ride” was that she’d suddenly hear from her backpack: “Look at the crazy woman taking her parrot for bike ride”.

Mental Note: Never Let Your Kids Name Your Pet.

Twitter!

Hey, That’s What’s-Her-Name.

I like to passive-aggressively skip through actors’ headshots on their Facebook pages and only like pics of their dogs.

My friend Ben sent me a link to a bunch of headshots worth noticing – taken before celebrities were famous. A baby-faced Judi Dench. Stanley Tucci and Kevin Spacey with hair.

The best ones are truly unrecognizable. Like the ladies above: Naomi Watts, Joan Allen and Frances McDormand.

Check out more here.

Now In Production.

To trick people into thinking I understand things at a museum, I stand in front of every painting and silently count to twenty.

There will be no faking it when the Academy Movie Museum is finally finished. I drove past its site the other day, and after a few delays, it’s set to open in April of 2019. Which means in May of 2019, I’ll be spraying a fine mist to reveal the alarm lasers before stealing Sly Stallone’s shorts from Rocky.

This is what it will look like when it’s finished. I very much look forward to exhibits like Best Achievement in Misleading Trailers.

30 Seconds Of September.

30 days hath September, and I spent 17 of them watching reruns of Curb.

Here’s the full month, one second per day:
 

J’eat?

I’m not Jewish until you need help moving on a Saturday morning.

Mostly, I’m in it for the food, so I was happy to attend my friend Marc and Lisa’s annual Yom Kippur Break Fast the other night. It’s a chance to really stuff one’s face because God insists, and I love it.

Good food, good people – including my friend Brad, a music composer who works on TV shows and commercials. Brad gave me his business card, which is made out of plastic and has removable guitar picks. How cool is this: