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.