The Deuce Is A Ten.

It’s hard to sustain creativity. Michelangelo’s first David was art; the second was a lawn ornament. 

But “The Deuce” is back on HBO, and as good as ever, even as the writers continue to do things the hard way. Season one was set in 1971, season two jumped ahead to 1977, and the new third and final season takes place in 1985.

As a member of the SAG TV Awards nominating committee, I will give serious consideration to James Franco, who plays two different roles as good/evil twins Vincent and Frankie.

I can only vote for actors/casts, but if I could, I’d nominate the shit out of the people doing effects. In the scene above, from last week’s episode, the twins not only have a flawless conversation with each other, but Frankie pinches his brother’s cheek and kisses him on the lips. It’s pure magic.

If you haven’t seen the show, give it a shot. It really captures the filthiness of the New York of my youth. With some modern-day wizardry.

Doggy Style.

Rick’s clean bill of health earned him a fly new collar. Who’s a good-looking boy?

My Ride.

How much is appropriate to tip the police officer who opens the squad car door for you?

I’m a giver. And for a few weeks, I was a cop, complete with a police cruiser. Often, between takes, I wanted take the car for a spin so I could flash the badge at speeders and watch them shit. Or follow around other cop cars to let them know how it feels.

Ride along, this spring, with the premiere of the TV movie DNA Killers. Featuring me as a really groovy sheriff.

Matt’s Book Club.

An Uber driver once described Seattle as “Not that horrible of a place.” Wonder if there’s an opening for him on the tourism board.

Joel McHale, on the other hand, loves Seattle. He grew up there after being born and spending the first years of his life in Italy. (He dad was an American academic working in Rome.) It’s a very interesting life – he’s the middle of three boys (like me), almost killed himself as a kid while playing while pulling the trigger several times on a gun that he later realized had a bullet loaded in it, and walked onto the national champion University of Washington football team after lying that he’d played in high school.

That’s just a quarter of the way through, and I like it already. I loved Joel on “Community,” and a friend of mine was one of his students while Joel was her T.A. for an acting class at Washington, and she really liked him.

It’s a very good, funny book. Give it a gander.

Not Going Anywhere.

When I found a lump on Ricky’s chest, I wanted to research it online, but I was afraid I’d get endless pop-up ads for 20% OFF BEST DOG CANCER NOW.

So I left it up to the expert – his vet – and thank goodness it’s only a lipoma – a benign buildup of fat cells. (Fitting, since I mainly address Ricky by the nickname “Chubby.”)

Sweet relief. We live another day.

My New Favorite Movie Of The Year.

The hardest part of being an astronaut would probably be the smell of poop in my spacesuit if something went horribly wrong.

Not a problem for Brad Pitt’s character in Ad Astra. He’s an astronaut so cool under pressure that his resting heart rate is 47, and never accelerates in the face of danger.

And there’s danger alright, but that’s all I’ll say about this really great film so as not to spoil it. I loved it. It’s moving and dramatic and beautifully shot and evocative of Apocalypse Now.

It was cool to see it opening weekend at ArcLight, the epicenter of all theaters, because the audience was filled with people who had worked on the film, cheering during the closing credits. And I was with my friends Bru and Aina, who are friends with Brad Pitt’s stand-in Rob O’Malley, who has interesting stories whenever he works with Brad.

Here they are. Entirely cool. See this film.

We Have A New Winner.

Yesterday, right down the street from the Chase Bank that went up in flames after a car crashed into it, a plane crashed into a CPK.

Use the 20-minute pickup-only parking like the rest of us, ace.

More Like Dog Wizard.

Text during the TV movie shoot.

A Priest And A Jew Walk Into An Audition…

Both of them are me. For an HBO pilot. My mom can now go out to the backyard and practice rolling over in her grave.

A Jerry Bruckheimer Production.

I walk away from auto-flush toilets like action heroes walk away from explosions.

Those types of explosions only happen in movies, right? Maybe not. I drove past this Chase Bank in Torrance yesterday, which went up in flames after a car crashed into it. A) How do you crash into a bank? B) Cash is really flammable. Oh, the humanity.

Silver lining: the dim sum place I love, just 50 feet away, is still standing.

Cannabidiol. It’ll Cure What Ails Ya.

I don’t really know California law, but if I’ve got this straight: it’s now legal to marry marijuana.

I’ve never been high, and have no interest in ever being high, but Friday I made my first ever purchase from a marijuana dispensary.

That’s because my lower back suddenly seized up and hurt so badly, I was screaming whenever I tried to get out of bed. My friend Ariel, who is convinced the pain is viral (his mom and a friend are suddenly suffering with the same issue) recommended I try CBD ointment. So I went to the dispensary, and a friendly employee sold me the above balm, warning me that this particular stuff also had THC in it, so I had to be careful not to have any cuts on my fingers as I rubbed it on, because I could get stoned.

Here’s my review: it works. Not instantly, but still amazingly. There’s a lot less yelling in my bedroom, and getting out of my car, putting on socks, etc. etc. etc. Stop by if you’d like a hit.

Sacrilicious.

Pandas are proof that you can get fat from just eating salad.

I’m sticking with Oreo cheesecake pie at Atticus Creamery & Pies on Pico. Very slimming.

Proud Of This Girl.

I’m not sure if there’s a pecking order when it comes to athletes, but based on Harrison Ford’s choice of best places to land, golfers are the most dispensable.

Regardless, my favorite athlete is my niece Sloane, who made her JV golf team as a freshman, and now is blowing away everyone she faces. Her team has won its first three matches this season, and Sloane has had the best score each time, including yesterday, when she blew them out of the water. 

Good to see the Shevin killer instinct runs deep. Keep it up.

Again, Shameless Self-Promotion.

Sure, I was only issued a pistol, but maybe the sheriff of a small town shouldn't have access to weapons you ordinarily need cheat codes to get.

DNA Killer. Coming to your TV this spring.

Please No.

My hatred of the New York Mets probably stems from my fear of clowns.

Still, it’s a legitimate phobia. Something has happened over the last couple decades. The fear of clowns has tripled.

That said: who was the audience for the above It Experience? Was it a way to draw in people who need to put on the No-Fly List? Maybe I’m not so much scared of clowns as I am of the people who wanted to attend this thing. What an incredibly adaptive species they must be. Pass.

Games On.

Imagine if every Sunday all your friends decided to only speak in a foreign language. That’s how an ex-girlfriend of mine said she felt during football season.

I’ve said it before: you either love sports or you don’t. I crazy love them. And with the NFL back, it was so nice to regroup with the guys to watch the Jets at Sharkeez. It doesn’t matter that I contracted a wicked case of food poisoning there last season – it’ll take a lot more than that to keep me away from the rise ‘n shine breakfast.

As for college football, my Maryland Terps beat the living shit out of Syracuse, a ranked team, on Saturday, and it put me in the best mood. My frat brother Buzzy, a very talented photographer, was on the sidelines snapping some phenomenal pics. Because he’s a fan and an alumnus, he took pictures that others don’t. Here’s a couple:

The forced fumble is art. Also: Maryland kicker Joseph Petrino is a handsome young man who must get wicked laid.

Semi-related: you either love sports or you don’t.

31 Seconds Of August.

August. When getting stuck in a lawn chair trying to reach for your keys can be considered “hot yoga.”

It was one of my favorite months ever, starting with the TV movie shoot, and ending in New York. Here it is, one second per day:

Assorted New York Highlights.

Normally, a long weekend means it’s time to purchase enough food to allow me to remain indoors for three consecutive days.

But this time, I went to New York for five days. See what happens when you get out of the house? Free bobblehead.

Chicken parm at Patricia’s in the Bronx – two miles from where I was born. The mother ship calling me home.

Also at Patricia’s: gumbas slurping down pasta during the Jets game. The most Bronx thing ever.

Ollie on my high school’s 50-yard-line. Yes, my school stole the logo from the University of Georgia, but they stole it from the Green Bay Packers. Two wrongs make a right.

My entirely white hometown just got even whiter.

Rest In Peace.

I once saw a woman wearing a shirt that just said CANCER on the front, and it took me five minutes to stop feeling sorry for her and realize it was her astrology sign.

Now, before you think that joke is in bad taste, considering I’m about to talk about my friend’s dad dying of cancer, consider that his dad had a great sense of humor.

The friend is my frat brother David, and it was obvious back in school that he’d been raised right. Fathers provide our road maps, and David was smart and funny and had leadership skills, and all this told you everything you needed to know about his dad, Mal.

Mal unfortunately passed away from cancer on Friday. He still lived in New Jersey near David, and since I happened to be only an hour away, I put on my sneakers and paid a condolence call. (I didn’t know I’d need more formal wear on this trip, and David was of course super cool about it.)

Mal had lots of people pay their respects – including one of our other frat brothers, who drove four hours each way for the funeral. Mal fought in the army, taught high school for decades, and was a Boy Scout troop master. He made lifelong friends all life long. He was a very good man.

Oh, and as for my opening joke, consider this: David and his parents once attended a disaster of a funeral, in which the rabbi obviously didn’t know the deceased and mailed in the sermon, and people haphazardly attempted to pay their respects. Afterward, at the famous Tick Tock diner in New Jersey, David asked his parents “Quick – what are the top five funerals you’ve attended?” It became their running joke after anyone passed. But was it top five? In the end, Mal made the list.

Sorry for your loss, David. I’m glad I could come over on a tough day and learn more about your dad and be there in whatever way possible. Good dad, good son.

Two Days At The Ballpark.

If I win the Powerball, I’m going to make golf illegal.

Baseball stays. It’s the best. And Yankee Stadium is its home. I went there twice over the weekend, as my little brother hooked us up with $2600 seats. That’s us in the red oval.

They call them Legends Seats, and they really are $2600 each. They come with access all game to an all-inclusive two-story fancy restaurant, plus free waitress service in the stands.

The restaurant’s menu. Click on it for a closer look. The guest chef was from Tribeca Grill.

Ballpark food.

Even though I kinda make my living on TV, my nephew was finally impressed. He called from LA and asked me to flash him a sign. I made it a peace sign. He snapped a pic.

Happiest Labor Day.

I eat my corn on the cob like an old-school typewriter. This is how cartoons taught me to do it as a kid.

Here in the suburbs of NYC, summers meant stopping by the farm stand down the street for the sweetest corn you ever shucked. My mom brought some home yesterday and it was as good as ever. 

Hope your long weekend is as good and long as mine. With lots of butter melting on top.