Rest In Peace.

My friend Mark Derwin’s mother died last week. He lives in LA and flew to New York for her funeral. 

She was a real estate agent, like my mom still is, and Mark is distraught over her passing. A bittersweet aspect of the pandemic is that funerals are now streamed online, so I was able to somewhat be there with him, along with many of Mark’s relatives in Ireland and South Africa. (His mom grew up in Dublin and raised him by me in New York.) I thought the service was classy and beautiful and indicative of his mom. 

It’s becoming overwhelming to write posts like this so much lately. Shit month. Shit year.

Somebody Got A Quarantine Haircut.

Fatter And Lazier.

There’s a vegan restaurant by me that has a secret menu. If you order an “iPad,” they bring one an iPad and you can find any other place to eat. 

Did you know Starbucks has its own secret menu as well, featuring one item: puppucino. It’s a cup of whipped cream for dogs, served on the house. 

While we’re quarantined, my nephew made a homemade puppucino for Ricky. We anticipated he’d go to town on it so vigorously we served it outside. 

Between this and adoptions, dogs are winning this pandemic.

Rest In Peace.

My oldest memory is from when I was one year old, standing up in my crib after a nap. Lifting me out of that crib was Barbara, our housekeeper. Barbara just passed away. 

For 50 years, she worked for my parents, cleaning our home and my dad’s office. But she was more than a maid. When my parents went out of town, which was often and sometimes for up to two weeks, Barbara stayed with my brothers and me, cooking the best meals and letting us stay up late to watch TV. 

She had a very tough life, but was undeniably cool with a great sense of humor. I could always make her laugh. She never aged. She chain-smoked Marlboro reds, which would normally bother me, but this was Barbara. The smell of cigarettes will forever remind me of her. 

Up until the last couple of years, whenever I was home visiting my mom, there was Barbara, ready to talk sports with me before I drove her home. (She never learned to drive.) Quirky always, and always there, which makes her being gone impossible to fathom and that much sadder. 

Never forgotten, Barbara.

Turn Down The Volume And Listen.

WFAN in New York was the very first 24-hour sports radio station. Wives, you have them to blame. The afternoon duo that put the FAN on the map was called Mike and the Mad Dog. The Mad Dog is Chris Russo, a man so loud and ineloquent I feel sorry for the alphabet. 

In spite of his mushmouth, Chris is engaging (and married to a woman who was a grade ahead of me in high school) and for a long time he and Mike were the voices of New York sports. These days Chris has his own channel on Sirius XM: Mad Dog Radio. 

Today, one of my best friends, Rob Weintraub, will be on the show promoting his new book The Divine Miss Marble, the true story of a very mysterious pro tennis player. It’s been getting great reviews. 

4 p.m. EST. Channel 82.

Golden State.

I Just found out there’s an all you can drink tequila train in Mexico. So I guess this is goodbye, everyone. 

I practiced all Saturday afternoon at the Sunset Marquis pool, and I’m ready to turn pro. 

Also, I read a sad statistic that something like 2% of all sushi goes un-Instagrammed. We can do better. But no one does better than Sushi Park. My friend Rob vouched it would be the best I’ve ever had, and no lie, it was. Everyone in LA should take out from this place. It will make your quarantine.

Saturday Provisions.

If I’m ever on death row, when they ask me to pick my poison, I’ll say tequila. 

My friend Rob is coming into town again to shoot a commercial, and is staying at his favorite place (and LA’s most underrated fancy hotel): The Sunset Marquis. 

Rob is a producer through and through, already having planned tomorrow from the moment he steps off the plane. Burgers on the way to the hotel and margaritas by the private pool. (In a baller movie, Rob has the Sunset Marquis keep crates of his things in storage, including a bottle of Casa Dragones tequila.) Then he’s preordered severely overpriced sushi from Sushi Park that Rob swears will be the best meal I’ve ever had. Then we’re going to meet a director for drinks outside Black Market Liquor Bar. 

I’ve got my nephew watching Ricky so I can spend the day guilt-free. Day-drinking free.

Triple Feature.

If a dog dies in a movie, I cry. If a human dies, I cry, wondering why they had to kill the dog in that other movie. 

Ricky prefers a happy ending (for him, a horror movie is a Dyson vacuum informercial), so imagine his thrill when he came across a box of giveway DVDs, featuring the ultimate dog trilogy: Benji, Marley and Me and Hotel for Dogs. 

Actually, he was only semi-thrilled. No Dog Day Afternoon.

Once Again, For Your Quarantine Pleasure.

The most unbelievable part about “Sesame Street” is that there is only one grouch in the whole neighborhood. 

It also didn’t prepare me for any of the bullshit of life. But you know what has? “John Mulaney and the Sack Lunch Bunch.” Case in point: restaurant hostesses:

  

This special is a great sendup of children’s educational TV shows that you can watch on Netflix. And last month, John signed a deal to create two more Sack Lunch Bunch episodes to air on Comedy Central. The happiest three hours of all the pandemic.

Will & Grace. & Will.

I’m jealous of how many friends the people on “Intervention” have. 

Well, I do have my own friends on TV. In fact, my friend Will Radford and I take screengrabs whenever we see actors we know on TV and post them online. 

Last night, I got to honor Will himself, who had a role on the pilot of “Will & Grace.” All these years later, Will loves to talk about his week on the show. I had him guest-write a blog entry about it.

Above, that’s Will, holding the beer. He got to toast his own success on national TV. That’s my friend.

Residual Values.

I grew up living paycheck to paycheck, but through hard work and perseverance, I now live direct deposit to direct deposit. 

But I received a throwback Friday: a fat residual check. My Lifetime movie has been airing like crazy (including yesterday afternoon), and the check is big. (Don’t let “Seinfeld” fool you – 12 cents is more rare than the norm.) 

Yes, it’s crass to talk about money, but I’m an actor who just got paid while Hollywood is shut down. Dinner on me when we get paroled.

Paroled, For A Night.

If you want to take a date out for an expensive dinner, may I suggest eating at the airport. 

Even better: come to my neighborhood for an outdoor, socially-distanced meal at Manhattan Beach Post, considered one of the best restaurants in the country. 

I was there last night, and it was good to get out and very good to have the bacon cheddar buttermilk biscuits. Don’t be jelly.

Inside The Actor’s Quarantined Apartment: The Anthology.

Amazon thinks my recent humidifier purchase was merely the inaugural move in my newfound hobby of humidifier collecting. 

Guys, one is plenty. But I will turn you on to a much groovier collection: I’ve posted all my quarantine videos in one place, with a new Vimeo page. Easy to find, easy to navigate, no harassing Amazon suggestions. 

View them all here.

Now Appearing On Another Blog.

If you ask a police dog if he’s a good boy, legally he has to tell you. 

Everything else is voluntary. Ricky handled all his questions well when we were interviewed this week for a great pet blog. 

It was conducted by Barbara Bullington, who writes beautiful posts about pets and is a professor at East Carolina University. Movin’ on up. 

Read her entry here.

Make Us Proud.

I’m not rich in money, but I’m rich in friends and family. You know, the bad kind of rich. 

My nephew, on the other hand, has it made. His best friend is crazy wealthy, and spending the summer with his family at a resort in Jackson, Wyoming. Today, my nephew is flying out there to surprise him, after his friend’s cool mom invited him. 

While we adults can tolerate the quarantine, I feel for kids. The lost proms and graduations and college memories. My nephew is 12, and this should be a kickass summer for him. I’ve done my best to keep him company, feed him and take him to the beach, but it’s not enough – so I’m thrilled he gets to go spend eight days in heaven. And he gets to fly by himself for the first time. Always exciting. 

So live through him, because if you’re living vicariously through me, you just bought yourself Flintstone chewable vitamins. 

Have an outstanding trip.

Beachfront. Ish.

I put my pants on just like everyone else: reluctantly. 

Especially these days. Jeans gave way to sweats, and thank goodness – there’s no cool way to zip up during a Zoom meeting. 

I may be confined to quarters, but I’m keeping morale up here with my view. You see, in order to replace the pipes under my house a couple months ago, plumbers dug out a large pile of sand from beneath my garage (where I live was previously sand dunes) that hadn’t seen the light of day in 60 years. 

After the plumbers haphazardly got rid of the sand by spreading it onto an area where I was trying to grow grass, I put it in buckets and relocated it outside my bedroom window, creating a dune effect which reminds me every morning that I get to live in SoCal, my happy place. 

I could add two beach chairs and a couple of bottles of Corona, but I’ll probably wait for the next pandemic to go full douche.

Rest In Peace.

Kneeling over my toilet with an acute case of food poisoning, I felt so sick and alone that I missed my mom. 

That was two years ago. I was a grown man.

I told that story to my friend Ted Melfi, whose mom passed away yesterday, because he was close with her like I am with my mom. 

The job of a parent is to reassure her child that he is safe. My mom stayed next to me when I was a little boy, sick in the middle of the night. Job well done. 

Ted, who directed my featurette and then went on to gigantic things like Hidden Figures, had an abnormal upbringing. His dad was in organized crime, and for protection suddenly moved the family from Brooklyn to the middle of Missouri. Then he left Ted’s mom to raise three boys. She put herself through nursing school at the age of 50 – a career that requires a huge heart – and did everything for her sons. She was a great mom. 

And Ted is a true gentleman. He adopted his niece without hesitating for a second when her dad – Ted’s brother – suddenly passed away. Meanwhile, I don’t know any director who works as hard as Ted. He’s so thoughtful about getting a great performance out of his actors that after Hidden Figures won a SAG award for best cast, and the actors gathered on stage, Taraji P. Henson insisted Ted join them, saying he was the man who made that happen. 

His mom raised that man. That’s her legacy.

For 60 Seconds, I Got To Act.

In the 80s, video games meant “Run! Jump! Eat Collect the coins! Now: You are a broken man, haunted by the choices you’ve made. 

I don’t judge. Just saying. And I’m all for video games when I get a commercial audition for one mid-quarantine. I’m not quite sure they’ll even be able to pull off the production if I book it, but it’s always good to get in front of the camera. An unbroken man.

I May Have To Get The Band Back Together.

Somewhere in a parallel universe, I hope there’s a giant dog with a tiny woman in her purse. 

I may have found that dog, and while I’m still on an extended hiatus from Inside the Actor’s Quarantined Apartment, I may have discovered a future recurring co-star: an Irish Wolfhound puppy named Dugan. 

He was just adopted by my brother’s neighbors, and judging by his enormous paws, he’ll soon grow to be upwards of 200 lbs. and four feet tall. I imagine the endless possibilities of him playing a horse or Snuffleupagus or an AT-AT walker. Let’s get that kid into hair and makeup.

Two Harbors, Catalina.

Two Harbors is remote. And tiny. It has a population of 298. The kind of place in which you might get cooked in a giant pot by cannibals. 

It’s one of two towns on Catalina island, the other being the larger, more touristy Avalon. A two-day hiking trail connects both towns. Two Harbors strangely has an east coast feel, with a pebbly beach like a little cove in Maine. (I say strangely because it’s been used as a Polynesian shooting location for films including Mutiny on the Bounty.) 

When you come ashore and enter the tiny village, which consists of a general store and two restaurants, a pleasant dude in a polo shirt hands you a surgical mask. It’s a Karen-free environment. 

Two Harbors maintains its charm in every way… 

…to a point. 

Plus it has a care-free sense of humor. I spent two hours there – the right amount of time to shake off whatever ached and get back on the JetSki to ride home. Jaws’ cousins be damned.

I Rode A JetSki To Catalina. And Back.

I would watch a reality show that’s nothing but goth kids trying not to smile while riding JetSkis. 

Needing to get out of the house during this extra-inning quarantine, I thought about my happiest time back before the apocalypse. It was two years ago, in Tampa for my best friend Chad’s wedding. I spent the morning on a JetSki in Tampa Bay. Then I showered, gave a kickass wedding toast, danced, and had a post-wedding date. It was the best day of my life. (Sorry, but I’m claiming your best day as my own, Chad.) 

With no weddings in sight, I wanted to get back on a JetSki, but I’m not one to do things the easy way, so I found an ocean adventure in which I could go with a group from Long Beach all the way to Catalina. 29 miles each way, all in one day. I couldn’t wait. 

Friday, it happened. It started in the harbor, passing by the Queen Mary, and then we gunned it into the ocean.

Snuggling on a buoy were sea lions. There are often dolphins leaping out of the water on the way to Catalina, but Friday, the sea was angry. This is not billed as a “tour.” It’s a major challenge. In the summer especially, eight-foot waves lift you out of the water and slam you down the entire ride. There’s a lot of groin trauma. Half the group had bad sea sickness. 

And I loved it. It packed so much into a day, it felt like a good, long adventure out of town. It had the right level of danger. Whenever we stopped to give our aching forearms a break, the team leader would do donuts with his JetSki to ward off any sharks. As a water baby, I felt right at home. 

I’d never been to Catalina, and it was odd and quaint and surreal. I’ll get into it tomorrow. My severely sunburned hands can only type so much.