An Open Letter To Some Asshole Who Won’t Bother Reading It.

Dear Anonymous Emailer:

When you messaged me last week, asking where you should live when you move to LA, I was more than happy to reply.

But, young “actor” (hereafter I use the word with an asterisk of skepticism), you then replied back to me with this: “Thank you for the heads up bro! Are you also currently acting right now and represented by an Agency?”

I don’t know – am I? You obviously got my email address from the right side of this blog, but apparently it was too much of an effort to move your eyes one inch to the left and read a single entry. Or even the name of my blog.

Yeah, I’m represented by agents (the word’s not capitalized, genius) and watch how fast I recommend you to them. While I’m here, what else would you like? I mean, why not add a PS to your email, asking me to make you a grilled cheese sandwich and suck you off?

So come out to LA, and half-ass it for a few weeks before calling it quits. Then you can go back to sleeping on the floor of your uncle’s mattress store.

Sincerely,
Matthew

The Fifth Great Movie Of The Year.

I think it’s so sweet when people spend more time deciding if they want a tattoo than if they want marriage or kids.

Helping escalate the divorce rate is the continuing history of movies based on a couple of notions: opposites attract (nonsense), and you aren’t complete without a perfect relationship in your life (utter bullshit.)

You didn’t realize emotion could get in the way of living happily ever after? Have you not read the poetry of Jewel?

Actually, one of the best pleasures of seeing movies is experiencing moments of recognition – yes, that's exactly right, that’s exactly the way it would have happened. Shit gets messy.

Celeste and Jesse Forever is filled with moments like this. It has an eye and an ear for the way things really are. About once a decade, a movie captures this realism. In the 80s, it was About Last Night (my favorite movie of all time), in the 90s it was Love Jones, in the 2000s it was The Last Kiss.

Celeste and Jesse Forever stars Rashida Jones as Celeste, and she’s super cute and acts her ass off in a very emotional role. She wrote the film with her ex-boyfriend Will McCormack (now there’s an amicable breakup), who took a smaller role, but steals all of his scenes. Playing Rashida’s husband is Andy Samberg, and his character Jesse is goofy and sad and in over his head.

This is an independent film in almost every way, shot in three weeks with a budget so small, Rashida’s car in the film is her real Prius. Her house is hers, too. So it’s completely driven by dialogue and situations and it’s a film that’s real and hilarious and you should see it. Or just wait ten years for the next one.

Weekend Recap.

After six weeks of trying, my friends and I finally got a table at Ink, one LA Magazine’s top 10 new restaurants. It was completely worth the wait (literally. We could only manage a 10 p.m. reservation.) Pictured above (next to the poutine chickpea fries with yogurt curds on the right) is ham (more of a prosciutto) with manchego biscuits and almond butter. Who would’ve thought to pair almond butter with biscuits and ham? (Besides Elvis)… In a scene in a casting workshop, I had to get into a pushing confrontation with an actor who’s a former defensive end for Utah State. Let’s just say my quarterback would have had his spine severed… This is SO wrong… Ricky, who weighed 4 ½ lbs. when I rescued him in January, is now clocking in at 75 lbs. and still growing. That’s a lot of puppy.

Racist? Maybe. (Unintentionally.) But I Know That Gymnast!

 
I don’t see color. People tell me I’m white and I believe them because police officers call me “sir.”

And if you think NBC is a bunch of racists because they cut to a promo featuring a monkey gymnast right after Gabby Doublas won a gold medal, (click above) you are high. I watched it live and that thought never occurred to me. Face it – if your mind makes that immediate black person/monkey connection, you are racist.

Either way, I was just glad to see my buddy Crystal the Capuchin monkey booked a series. Well done, girl.

It’s Just His Way Of Saying “I Love You.”

Where does Matt Shevin go when he’s out on the town? To the Barnes & Noble bathroom.

But where does my friend Pat go? Out of town, actually, across the country on his Triumph. He’s on his annual summer trip from NYC to the west coast, and stopped by to have lunch and meet Ricky for the first time on Wednesday. (Luckily Pat was wearing his protective motorcycle jacket as Ricky is a pretty passionate greeter.)

Pat’s easily leading the most interesting life of anyone I know. He teaches at Frank Sinatra School of the Arts in Queens, a school founded by Tony Bennett. He’s an incredibly talented artist in his own right, and one of those teachers you only think exists in movies or TV, pushing special ed students to go far beyond their potential, so they can do so much more with their lives than they every imagined.

And he writes an amazing blog, which right now features details (and beautiful photos and stories) of nooks and crannies of America I never knew existed (including this jaw-dropping one in my own backyard.) I can’t recommend enough that you bookmark it and give it a serious gander:

NY Gumbo

My 1400th Entry.

I’m nothing if not efficient. I double-knot my shoelaces. I’ve flossed every day for twenty-two years. In Grand Theft Auto I pay the prostitutes promptly and never hit them with a bat.

But I’m still pleasantly surprised I’ve kept a blog going this long. 1400 entries? Someone better test my urine.

As is customary, I’ve selected my favorite five from the past 100 and post links. Here you go:

Real Los Angeles Heroes. Parking in LA is tricky – unless you’re a hoarder with a personality disorder. Cut the wheel and back it in here.

My Hate Mail. These people don’t necessarily hate me – they just hate my guts. Join hands and sing “Kumbaya” here.

I’m On TV This Week. If the camera puts on ten lbs., here’s hoping I become a big, fat shit. Catch me while I still fit into frame here.

My Favorite Place On Earth: An iPhone™ Photo Gallery. I’d want my ashes sprinkled there too, but I plan on being buried so I can come back as a zombie. In the meantime, grab a Yankee frank and an obscenely expensive seat here.

Get Your Butt To LA, Part 44: I Get Anecdotal On Your Ass. Someday the New York Jets will run a two-minute drill with this efficiency. Take a knee and start Tebowing here.

Why Am I Punishing Myself With A Daily Blog…

…when I can just flip two words and call it a morning?