Let’s All Watch This.

Netflix never lets you forget you watched a sex documentary.

So stick with HBO, and their current awesome six-part documentary McMillions. It’s the crazy story of the hacking of the McDonald’s Monopoly game.

After four episodes, I’ve learned a lot: People will grift until they get caught. Sometimes those who win aren’t actually winners at all. And FBI guys are handsome, while criminals are butt-ugly.

Episode five airs Monday night, so spend the weekend bingeing the first four so we can discuss.

Still The Valedictorian Of Raider Fans.

In Which I Do Another Interview.

My dream is to become the first smart person to be interviewed by a newscaster live at a scene.

Until then, I did something equally fun: an interview with Fanpop. They ask nice questions. I gave somewhat coherent answers. Give them a gander:

INTERVIEW: Matt Shevin Stars in Lifetime Thriller ‘Her Secret Family Killer’

Ricky’s First Audition.

I don’t care who dies in a movie, but it’d better not be the dog.

And by the way, how scared must any vet be to have to tell John Wick he needs to put his next dog down?

I helped my friend Mark with a big self-tape audition (yes, they use an antiquated term) to play a series regular on a new TV show. One of the scenes featured a giant dog all up in Mark’s business, so we did a take with Ricky. I was shocked how well he nailed it.

Okay, he nailed it on his second take. The first time, he put his giant noggin in Mark’s lap correctly, but as he backed out of the frame, his wagging tail hit the tripod. Then, like his dad, he perfectly executed his redirect – head in Mark’s lap, then backed out and laid down behind me as Mark finished the scene.

Mark is also infatuated with Pit Bulls. He’s had two of them and he and his girlfriend are soon going to rescue a third. We’ll be total Hollywood parents putting these boys to work.

I Did A Radio Interview.

Those who say there is no such thing as a stupid question have obviously never worked for Apple customer support.

I had the pleasure of receiving very insightful questions during a radio interview about my Lifetime movie. The gentlemen interviewing me called me one of the most positive actors they’ve spoken to. Give it a listen:

The Neil Haley Show

In Which I Eulogize An Inanimate Object.

I never lock my car. What is someone gonna steal? My stack of Chipotle napkins? Perhaps my broken sunglasses? The bottle of water my nephew opened and took one sip of? They’d be doing me a favor.

Well now I no longer need to bother locking this car anyway, because it is no longer mine. The lease ended and I turned it in. I’m sentimental every time I do this. In LA, your ride is your sanctuary.

I’ll remember all the times I ran lines behind the wheel on the way to auditions. Or hoisted Ricky’s big butt into the back seat. The meals I ate while steering with my knees. 56,000 miles of memories.

Knowing it was his last ride in my SUV, my nephew asked if I could drive like a maniac one more time, like I did when he and his sister were little, and they’d sit in the third-row seat behind Ricky in the middle. I obliged. Music blaring, car weaving, latest chapter ending.

Matt’s Book Club.

Before the age of 30, Harris Wittels had accomplished greatness. He was a writer on two of my favorite TV shows – “The Sarah Silverman Program” and “Parks and Recreation” – and for the longest time, he was the anonymous genius behind the humblebrag Twitter feed, skewering famous people who tried to surreptitiously boast about themselves:

@KrisAllen “Checking out at CVS and my song comes on the speakers. Awkward…..” 

Harris broke it down to a science:

This is an example of one of my favorite types of Humblebrag – the “awkward” Humblebrag. The situations Humblebraggers define as awkward are never actually awkward. It’s just a good way for them to punctuate a brag. Who was this awkward for? The only situation in which this would be awkward is if Adam Lambert (the guy Allen beat on “American Idol”) was the cashier… which he may have been. I truly haven’t kept up on Adam Lambert’s post-Idol career. If Adam Lambert is in fact a CVS cashier, I will gladly post a retraction. 

Then, at age 34, Harris died of a heroin overdose. It rocked the comedy community. His sister Stephanie, a talented playwright and director who teaches at a high school for the performing arts in their hometown of Houston, was hit hardest by his death, and decided to write a book about it. She has a phenomenal writing style:

My husband Mike writes an obituary that is beautiful and poignant, but the newspaper sends us an invoice for $2,563.72, which is goddamn lunacy. It’s like the scene from The Big Lebowski where the snooty funeral director tries to sell John Goodman’s character an urn for $180, and he shouts, “Just because we’re bereaved doesn’t make us saps!” Then he pounds his fist on the desk and transports the ashes in a Folgers coffee can. Mike edits the obituary down to $1,406.34.
The day before the funeral, I realize I have nothing to wear. I have to go to a store where people are buying dresses for happy occasions and buy a dress to wear to your funeral, a dress that will forever hang in my closet as the dress I wore to my brother’s funeral. I’ll never wear it again, but I won’t ever give it away. It will just hang there, sadly and forever, as a daily reminder that things can always be worse. 

In the midst of this enormous tragedy, Stephanie was dealing with even more adversity: her baby girl had been diagnosed with permanent hearing loss in both ears. Stephanie wrote absolute prose about it:

This wasn’t the movie I’d directed in my mind. The movie starred a radiant postpartum mother and her perfect newborn baby: Mom taking a brisk walk every morning with her baby tucked tightly in her gender-neutral stroller under layers of soft blankets or nuzzled close to Mom in her organic baby sling as passers by ooh and aah over her beauty, sharing frequent play dates with friends who also have little ones, commiserating over poopy diapers and sleep deprivation, writing funny anecdotes in a handmade baby book from Etsy, lying in bed with the perfect little family, daydreaming about who she’ll be when she grows up.

With Great Friends.

When I was a kid, my parents gave me two autographs from Mickey Mouse. I was convinced one of them was a forgery.

I know the above Pete Rose signature is for real. It was given to me by my friend Ted, who I’ve known since I was six. Last year, Ted had dinner with Pete, who I’ve always idolized, and had Pete call me. I almost jumped out of shoes.

Last night, Ted was in town so we had dinner. He held onto the baseball until he saw me in person because he’s such a good guy.

Have heroes. And even better friends.

Killer.

One day, a woman I was dating googled “ballroom dance lessons,” and I seriously hoped she was cheating on me.

My Lifetime character was not so big on the cheating. But he was fun to play. And the response I’ve had has been really nice. Friends and family were outstanding:

My neighbors threw me a very loud viewing party:

I got a chance to twitter-bomb a stranger:

I’ve had six online interviews about the movie so far, tomorrow I have a phone interview with Horror News, and next week iHeart Radio. What a ride.

Thank You.

Seriously, thank you. Thank you to my Mom, who turned down an invite to watch it with her best friend because she wanted to concentrate on me. To my neighbors, who made me the only cast member to receive a viewing party. To my frat brothers, for subverting gender norms and watching a Lifetime movie for the first time ever. I’ll have much more to say tomorrow, but now, after watching the second airing at midnight, I will go to bed, happy and thankful.

Because I’m In Love With You, Ladies.

When a female doctor first told me I was a “mansplainer,” I had a lot of answers.

I do not profess to be an expert, but I do like to enlighten women on Valentine’s Day, with ten things that give them a glimpse inside our tiny man brains. This is by far my favorite post every year.

1. YOU: I like you. HIM: That doesn’t work for me. YOU: I hate you. HIM: You. I’m going to focus on you. 
2. If you ever have your heart broken, consider me your guardian angel – I’ll take away your phone, and leave you alcohol and possibly your first puppy.
3. We’re mostly looking for very tall girlfriends to reach the cookies. Or very small girlfriends we can lift up to get the cookies. 
4. A mattress will double in weight after six years. So will every guy you sleep with. 
5. Hide bubble wrap in your bra for hilarious hugs. 
6. Instead of going to couple’s therapy, married people should just join Tinder and see what a nightmare single people have to deal with. 
7. If you want to leave a note on your ex-boyfriend’s car saying you still love him, make sure it doesn’t go unnoticed – key it into the door pretty deep. 
8. Yeah breakups hurt, but have you ever forwarded a friend a tweet about your sports team and he replies back “I already saw this”? 
9. Goal in your next relationship: sex so good, your Fitbit gives you a trophy. 
10. Guys who work and play hard are fine, but find a dude too lazy to cheat on you.

The Trailer For My Lifetime Movie.

The downside of a DVR is getting freaked out by tornado warnings from four days ago.

The upside: you get to see me in action, playing a sheriff in a Lifetime movie. It was such a fun shoot, and I want you to see it.

It’s called Her Secret Family Killer, and it airs Sunday night at 8 p.m. on Lifetime. As the network likes to say, “Your life. Your time.” Check out the trailer:

Preview: Her Secret Family Killer

Once Again, Going Under The Knife.

Leap year means nothing when you have bad knees.

Just ask Ricky. After tearing his CCL (the canine equivalent of an ACL) in his left leg five years ago, which required major surgery, he has now torn the CCL in his right leg.

Ricky’s been a real trooper thus far, getting around on three legs until his surgery will be performed March 3rd. Then the sad, long recovery begins, in which he’ll be mostly drugged so he doesn’t rip out his staples. (Also sad: the $6000 price of this procedure.)

Thank you to my nephew, who kept Ricky company when he hurt his leg over the weekend. Now the meds keep him pretty happy. But I feel really bad for him because he has no idea the uncomfortable ten weeks heading his way.

It happens, and you get through it. You either love dogs or you don’t.

Michael K. Williams Wants You To Watch My Lifetime Movie.

Television can really skew your perspective. For instance, I feel like HGTV is creating false expectations for the attractiveness of the contractor you hire for home renovations.

Michael K. Williams has played a very dangerous man on many TV shows, but when he came walking out of a Sprouts market Saturday night, I couldn’t help but engage him. I told him how much I love his work, and he was so appreciative and shook my hand. Then I mentioned my movie was airing on Lifetime on Sunday, and he gave me big congratulations. Nicest guy. Great moment in LA. 

The movie is Her Secret Family Killer, airing Sunday night at 8 p.m. on Lifetime. Michael K. Williams approves this message.

Short And Sweet.

Short films are entirely compelling because they get right to the story. Like imagine how awesome The Karate Kid could have been if Daniel had just bought a gun.

Saturday, I took my nephew to see a screening compilation of the live-action shorts nominated for an Oscar this year. They were entirely compelling. One of them, titled Saria, told the tragic true nightmare of teen girls trapped in a Guatemalan orphanage (prison, really) so dramatically, that it made a woman sitting in our row sob for 10 minutes. But the one we liked best was called The Neighbors’ Window, about a married couple with three young kids who yearn to regain the passion of a young, horny couple they see in an apartment across the street from them in Brooklyn It’s a fascinating twist on the grass being greener, and I’ll be damned, but movie won last night.

It was a nice night for my nephew, who shared with me that he doesn’t get out and see LA as much as he’d like to. I’ll fix that. We followed the screening with dinner at Shake Shack, and the ultimate french fry contest. I won for longest fry, he eked out shortest one. See above pic.

My Lifetime Movie Airs Next Sunday.

I’ve got butterflies in my stomach today. And a permanent ban from the entomology section at the Natural History Museum.

Good butterflies, because the Lifetime movie, in which I had a leading role, is going to air Sunday, February 16th at 8 p.m.

Formerly titled DNA Killer, it has now been renamed Her Secret Family Killer. I’m going to do shameless self-promotion all next week. Set your DVR in the meantime. TV!

Rest In Peace.

I once watched an interview with Kirk Douglas, in which he was asked about a film he shot in the 1950s. Kirk had no recollection of the shoot.

Crazy, but understandable considering how prolific his career was. Kirk had roles in 95 movies, and maybe some of the shoots blended together.

May we all work so much that we’re afforded the ability to blank like Kirk. 103 years of a very fascinating life.

Fresh Lettuce.

A bad haircut sucks, because you literally gave someone money to make you look worse.

Samuel L. Jackson has worn a crazy range of bad hair – albeit fake – in a lot of movies, and I love the above piece hanging at ITA, where I do casting workshops. These are just 20 styles from his 150+ films.

Hanging next to Samuel are hair and facial styles for the other most prolific actor: Gary Oldman.

I’m fascinated by these, and stumbled upon one more online: all of the suits worn by Robert De Niro in Casino. Hey, I just realized a nice irony: I’m doing a De Niro scene from Casino at ITA in a couple weeks. It’s the only one in which he isn’t in a suit. (Pecsi says to him, “Look at you. Half the time you’re running around in your house looking like John Barrymore in a pink friggin’ robe.” I’ll be in a robe, though not a pink one.)

31 Days Of January.

If you think January was a big month for marches, you’re gonna lose your mind when you hear what the third month of the year is called.

 Here’s my January, one second per day:

Me Too.

Vandalism should be allowed on any vehicle whose alarm has been going off for more than five minutes.

But not on a vehicle rented by well-meaning guys keeping to themselves, guilty only of the heinous crime of wearing the opponents’ jerseys.

I’ve told this story before here, so I’ll give the short version. I went with fellow Jets fans to see our team play in Kansas City a few years ago. We tailgated a bit in the parking lot, and were honestly our normal happy, friendly bunch. After the game, we found our rented SUV covered in spit and with a cracked windshield.

Yesterday, needing a reason to root for one team over another in the Super Bowl, I chose the 49ers, because their fans don’t behave as badly as Shakira faked playing guitar and drums. Unfortunately, the team with animals for fans won.

So congrats, KC. You’re winners. And yet you’ll always be losers.