Technically Not Stalking.

My mom still lives in the house I grew up in. When I visit now as an adult, it looks so different, because I distinctly remember the floors being lava.

I started a new book yesterday morning: Bryan Cranston’s autobiography A Life in Parts. He begins with stories of his childhood home in Canoga Park: 8175 McNulty Avenue. I realized yesterday afternoon I was in Canoga Park, right around the corner. So I drove by.

Bryan will be the first to tell you it’s not exactly a palace. But it was in this driveway and garage that he appeared in his first film — a western, directed by his big brother. On the front lawn, he played war with real props (his dad, a part-time actor, “borrowed” uniforms and guns from sets) until the day Kennedy was shot, and Bryan’s friend declared gunplay over.

It’s a surreal way to kick off what should be a fascinating read. Also, I’d originally been planning on seeing Bryan on Broadway in December in the stage version of Network, before To Kill a Mockingbird became too good to pass up. And: his childhood home is around the corner from where I shot the first two days of my sitcom. Have I mentioned I love Hollywood?