Hello. I'm sitting in my room in the middle of a weekday for the first time in what seems like forever. Why you ask? What happened to those fun-filled 80 hour work weeks? Well, I have strep throat...again. If you're not aware, I've had strep throat about as many times as my TiVo has broken down, which is a lot (the tivo they sent me last week is broken again by the way, my relationship with tivo is becoming very dysfunctional, where the more I love it the more she breaks my heart. My Tivo's Ike Turner!).
It's weird to not be working today. I feel bad. Come to think of it, my relationship with work might be dysfunctional too, considering the strep throat might've been the result of eating only fritos, lay's potatoe chips, and oreos everday while working in a 20 degree studio - "when she hits me it's only because she loves me".
As I've mentioned a few times before, despite my fairly horrendous experience writing a movie (bitter!), I just want to write movies. And this TV job is doing nothing to make me sway from that goal. It's like fucking Days of Our Lives over at our office. It's all about politics. Everyone is angling for position. Everyone is trying to outmaneuver you for control and influence. I am not into this. I want to do well, I want the show to do well, I hope it's a hit and I hope I'm an important part of it.
I can go on and on about this, but I don't want to. I want to talk about the horrible flaw in TV writing. It's all committee shit. Nothing is your own. Everything gets "tabled". I am not geared for this. I don't want to get in a room with 5 other Jewish guys and yell out jokes. I'm not a standup comedian. I didn't study improv. This puts me at a huge disadvantage. The whole reason I got into writing in the first place was so that I didn't have to talk to other people. That, and the possibly that writing might lead to me having sex with models on top of piles of cash. Modest goals, I know, but I'm a simple man.
I like my own jokes. If I write a piece, the individual jokes are important to me. If they get changed but the piece is still the same, to me it's dead. It's not what it was. I'm an egomaniac, but I don't care. I like my jokes, not yours. Sometimes things get improved in this process, but not always. This whole notion of "doing it together" runs contradictory to my whole joy of writing. Yes, you other guys are funny. But how about if you go do your funny shit and I'll do mine? Let's not mix and match. Step away from my funny!
But hold on, before you slap the bitterness tag on me, there are occasions where I do find joy in the process. And I know if I was at a place that was doing more my style of comedy, I would really get into it. Cause even though my last job was hack, I truly liked the stuff we were doing sometimes and would feel passionate about certain things.
So what's my point? I kind of forget. Oh yeah, I wanna write movies...and I wanna make love to my tivo without getting all nervous that she's going to cheat on me. I love you, baby, but why you gotta be so crazy sometimes?
Monday, June 27, 2005
Saturday, June 25, 2005
Parental Advisory: The following may be considered "dark and bitter"
Despite the sadness it causes my mom, I don't see any scenario in which I could possibly ever get married. Now this has nothing to do with you, ladies. It has to do with me. I'm looking for the whole package, but through my intensive research I have discovered that it doesn't exist. You know why? Because there are no girls who fit these qualifications:
Must think strange eating habits are "quirky" and "adorable"
Must refer to my nephew Jake as either "Mr. Jakerson" or "Sir"
Can like animals, but in a way where she never wants to have them or talk about them or ever be around them. Ever.
Must be instantly attracted to me, only to later fall in love with my genius
No daddy issues
Must play the role of Lana Lang on TV's "Smallville"
Snuggling okay...until it's sleepy time
Must at least pretend to think it's cool that I think I'm black
Can be legally insane, as long it's in a loveable way and not in a I-get-shot-by-her- ex-husband way
Doesn't have to like R. Kelly, but must respect him as an artist
Must not like Asian food
Must be Asian
I think we can all agree on one thing: Aside from the asian thing, I want to marry myself.
Must think strange eating habits are "quirky" and "adorable"
Must refer to my nephew Jake as either "Mr. Jakerson" or "Sir"
Can like animals, but in a way where she never wants to have them or talk about them or ever be around them. Ever.
Must be instantly attracted to me, only to later fall in love with my genius
No daddy issues
Must play the role of Lana Lang on TV's "Smallville"
Snuggling okay...until it's sleepy time
Must at least pretend to think it's cool that I think I'm black
Can be legally insane, as long it's in a loveable way and not in a I-get-shot-by-her- ex-husband way
Doesn't have to like R. Kelly, but must respect him as an artist
Must not like Asian food
Must be Asian
I think we can all agree on one thing: Aside from the asian thing, I want to marry myself.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Practice. Day One.
EXT. HAWAII - ESTABLISHING
Sunshine rains down upon the lush Hawaiian Islands.
INT. PRACTICE FACILITY/HAWAII - DAY
One man occupies an otherwise empty basketball court. He works his ass off, dribbling around the court and launching jump shots. Every one hits the net with a sharp swish. It's just another offseason for Kobe Bryant.
Finally, a ball clangs off the rim and bounces away, and it comes to a stop under the foot of Phil Jackson. He picks up the ball and holds it. Kobe stops.
PHIL
Hi, Kobe.
KOBE
Phil.
PHIL
Actually, it's coach now.
KOBE
Right...coach.
(BEAT)
What are you doing back here anyway? I thought you hated me.
PHIL
Oh, Kobe. I don't hate you. I just hate your attitude, your wife, and everything you stand for.
(BEAT)
Speaking of hating your wife, how is Vanessa?
KOBE
Still bat shit crazy. Still thinks I'm not going to cheat on her anymore.
THEY SHARE A HUGE LAUGH.
PHIL
I guess the only thing dumber than NBA players are the women who marry them.
KOBE
Thank God for that.
PHIL
That's the drawback of dating Jeannie. She's not dumb, but on the plus side, she has a billion dollars and part ownership of the team I want total control over.
KOBE
Not a bad tradeoff.
PHIL
No, not bad. But it has it's bad moments. Like when you're in a little Thai village smoking hash and 50 little asian girls are in line waiting to blow you and she's right there next to you, not letting anything happen.
(BEAT, DEADLY SERIOUS)
And let me tell you something, I love asian women. Especially when I'm stoned on hash.
KOBE
They don't call you the Zen Master for nothing.
(BEAT)
I have a confession to make - I don't hate you either. Just the way you're always right and win all the time. That really gets to me.
PHIL
I apologize for that. But I'm sure I'll make up for all that annoying winning this coming year.
KOBE
Maybe, maybe not. You never know, we still have Slava.
THEY SHARE ANOTHER HUGE LAUGH.
PHIL
Oh how I miss those Medvedenko jokes.
(BEAT)
You wanna go get a drink, toast to the new season?
KOBE
Maybe tomorrow. Tonight I've got plans to have anal sex with a Hawaiian whore.
PHIL
Sounds good. Careful though--
KOBE
Don't worry. I've cut down on the choking.
PHIL
Just the choking?
KOBE
Come on, I'm an NBA superstar, and sometimes NBA superstars need anal with crazy women.
PHIL
I respect that. Especially if it's with asian women.
Sunshine rains down upon the lush Hawaiian Islands.
INT. PRACTICE FACILITY/HAWAII - DAY
One man occupies an otherwise empty basketball court. He works his ass off, dribbling around the court and launching jump shots. Every one hits the net with a sharp swish. It's just another offseason for Kobe Bryant.
Finally, a ball clangs off the rim and bounces away, and it comes to a stop under the foot of Phil Jackson. He picks up the ball and holds it. Kobe stops.
PHIL
Hi, Kobe.
KOBE
Phil.
PHIL
Actually, it's coach now.
KOBE
Right...coach.
(BEAT)
What are you doing back here anyway? I thought you hated me.
PHIL
Oh, Kobe. I don't hate you. I just hate your attitude, your wife, and everything you stand for.
(BEAT)
Speaking of hating your wife, how is Vanessa?
KOBE
Still bat shit crazy. Still thinks I'm not going to cheat on her anymore.
THEY SHARE A HUGE LAUGH.
PHIL
I guess the only thing dumber than NBA players are the women who marry them.
KOBE
Thank God for that.
PHIL
That's the drawback of dating Jeannie. She's not dumb, but on the plus side, she has a billion dollars and part ownership of the team I want total control over.
KOBE
Not a bad tradeoff.
PHIL
No, not bad. But it has it's bad moments. Like when you're in a little Thai village smoking hash and 50 little asian girls are in line waiting to blow you and she's right there next to you, not letting anything happen.
(BEAT, DEADLY SERIOUS)
And let me tell you something, I love asian women. Especially when I'm stoned on hash.
KOBE
They don't call you the Zen Master for nothing.
(BEAT)
I have a confession to make - I don't hate you either. Just the way you're always right and win all the time. That really gets to me.
PHIL
I apologize for that. But I'm sure I'll make up for all that annoying winning this coming year.
KOBE
Maybe, maybe not. You never know, we still have Slava.
THEY SHARE ANOTHER HUGE LAUGH.
PHIL
Oh how I miss those Medvedenko jokes.
(BEAT)
You wanna go get a drink, toast to the new season?
KOBE
Maybe tomorrow. Tonight I've got plans to have anal sex with a Hawaiian whore.
PHIL
Sounds good. Careful though--
KOBE
Don't worry. I've cut down on the choking.
PHIL
Just the choking?
KOBE
Come on, I'm an NBA superstar, and sometimes NBA superstars need anal with crazy women.
PHIL
I respect that. Especially if it's with asian women.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Tour de Not That Hard
Lance Armstrong is on the cover of Sports Illustrated this week as he goes for his 7th straight Tour De France. Now we all know the Lance Armstrong story, testicular cancer, about to die, remission, winning, wife, winning, divorce, winning, famous, sheryl crow, athlete of the year, etc., etc., etc. It's a very nice story, and I think the guy's great and all that. But why hasn't anyone brought up the fact that the Tour de France is fucking easy?!!?
First of all, I know you see a million dudes out there pedaling their little hearts out, but actually, there's probably only 5 to 10 guys who have a realistic shot at winning the thing. It's a TEAM sport. You don't just take your Schwin over to Paris and sign up. You have a pack of other idiots who ride with you and help you out the whole way. They protect you, you drag off them, and whatever else can be done to help a dude on a bike go fast. Most of the people you see out there aren't trying to win, they're trying to help someone win. So really, right from the get go if you're the chosen one, you have a 1 in 5 chance of winning. Don't believe me? Check out how many Tour de France winners are repeat winners. Practically all of them! That's how the race works. Lance has 6 because he's the chosen one for the best team of cyclists. Any one of the guys he rides with could be the winner, but he's the golden child, so he gets the glory. And I'm sure he's the golden child for reasons other than the fact that he has one testicle and it's a great story for America.
Secondly, some people say that this is the "hardest test" in sports, and how it's the most grueling competition in the world. Really? Cause the guy with cancer keeps winning. And you know the other American champion of this event? Greg Lemond? Well, Greg won it twice after getting shot a few times while out huntin'. Interesting coincidence. Maybe they should try using guys who are completely healthy. Think how dominant they'd be!
(ANNOUNCER VOICE)
"We have yet another landslide victory by the guy who doesn't have AIDS. That just seems unfair, I mean, he's perfectally physically fit. How can the other guys with the gunshot wounds keep up?"
Was Alonzo Mourning the MVP of the NBA this year? No. Why? He's got no kidneys, that's why. And when you play in a big boy sport with people who have fully functioning kidneys, you're not going to be the best. And I've heard that Lou Gehrig wasn't the best baseball player after coming down with Lou Gehrig's disease.
Bet he woulda had a shot on the Tour though.
First of all, I know you see a million dudes out there pedaling their little hearts out, but actually, there's probably only 5 to 10 guys who have a realistic shot at winning the thing. It's a TEAM sport. You don't just take your Schwin over to Paris and sign up. You have a pack of other idiots who ride with you and help you out the whole way. They protect you, you drag off them, and whatever else can be done to help a dude on a bike go fast. Most of the people you see out there aren't trying to win, they're trying to help someone win. So really, right from the get go if you're the chosen one, you have a 1 in 5 chance of winning. Don't believe me? Check out how many Tour de France winners are repeat winners. Practically all of them! That's how the race works. Lance has 6 because he's the chosen one for the best team of cyclists. Any one of the guys he rides with could be the winner, but he's the golden child, so he gets the glory. And I'm sure he's the golden child for reasons other than the fact that he has one testicle and it's a great story for America.
Secondly, some people say that this is the "hardest test" in sports, and how it's the most grueling competition in the world. Really? Cause the guy with cancer keeps winning. And you know the other American champion of this event? Greg Lemond? Well, Greg won it twice after getting shot a few times while out huntin'. Interesting coincidence. Maybe they should try using guys who are completely healthy. Think how dominant they'd be!
(ANNOUNCER VOICE)
"We have yet another landslide victory by the guy who doesn't have AIDS. That just seems unfair, I mean, he's perfectally physically fit. How can the other guys with the gunshot wounds keep up?"
Was Alonzo Mourning the MVP of the NBA this year? No. Why? He's got no kidneys, that's why. And when you play in a big boy sport with people who have fully functioning kidneys, you're not going to be the best. And I've heard that Lou Gehrig wasn't the best baseball player after coming down with Lou Gehrig's disease.
Bet he woulda had a shot on the Tour though.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Help in the masturbation department
This isn't about Michael Jackson. That's too easy. This is about district attorneys across this great country of ours. You are a lawyer. You are not supposed to be famous. You are to do your job in total anonymity.
When someone comes to you claiming that a celebrity did something to them, the first thing you should do is not arrest that celebrity. The first thing you should do is something I like to call "investigate". Not the celebrity. The accuser. Yes, I know it's hard to believe, but not all people accusing celebrities are innocent victims. I know it's crazy, but these people actually might have an alterior motive. I don't know what the alterior motive might be, but it might have something to do with millions of dollars.
Seriously! What the fuck?!? Why are these guys just taking their word for it? If a woman comes in and says an NBA player raped her, you should be suspicious of the NBA player AND the woman. You don't know her. You never know, she could be a suicidal, drug-addicted, American Idol wannabe super whore. This type of thing could never happen in real life, but it's just a hypothetical. And I know Michael's weird, but it is possible that the kid's parents are con artists and like to go to Nordstrom and "slip". And maybe, just maybe, a kid with terminal cancer can tell people what they want to hear. How can you not look into this shit?!? How come you and I are expected to do our job thoroughly and yet these guys are using our money to try and make a name for themselves? What? Someone is claiming Tim Duncan touched his sister's ass? Let's take 'em down on an incest rap! Look into some shit before you take it to trial. Save us all the MSNBC coverage. Let's keep the focus on missing white girl's, okay?
Now I'm not saying Michael's innocent in all this. Clearly, the man has problems. I don't know what guy was up to, but here's my best guess after watching cable news and various MJ specials for the last 3 years. He's a kid at heart, blah, blah, blah, he's into a little kid cuddling, maybe a naked shower or two, and even a little help in the masturbation department. But I don't think there's any ass play going on. Call me naive, but Mike is a 12 year old, and 12 year old's don't like ass yet. This may be right or it may be wrong, but if a man with all of his fame and money and craziness really did something horribly wrong, and the Santa Barbara prosecutor wanted to be this famous, I think they would've easily nailed him to the wall. And they didn't. So DA's, your job is pretty simple: figure out who's the bigger money grubbing fame whore, and believe the other guy.
When someone comes to you claiming that a celebrity did something to them, the first thing you should do is not arrest that celebrity. The first thing you should do is something I like to call "investigate". Not the celebrity. The accuser. Yes, I know it's hard to believe, but not all people accusing celebrities are innocent victims. I know it's crazy, but these people actually might have an alterior motive. I don't know what the alterior motive might be, but it might have something to do with millions of dollars.
Seriously! What the fuck?!? Why are these guys just taking their word for it? If a woman comes in and says an NBA player raped her, you should be suspicious of the NBA player AND the woman. You don't know her. You never know, she could be a suicidal, drug-addicted, American Idol wannabe super whore. This type of thing could never happen in real life, but it's just a hypothetical. And I know Michael's weird, but it is possible that the kid's parents are con artists and like to go to Nordstrom and "slip". And maybe, just maybe, a kid with terminal cancer can tell people what they want to hear. How can you not look into this shit?!? How come you and I are expected to do our job thoroughly and yet these guys are using our money to try and make a name for themselves? What? Someone is claiming Tim Duncan touched his sister's ass? Let's take 'em down on an incest rap! Look into some shit before you take it to trial. Save us all the MSNBC coverage. Let's keep the focus on missing white girl's, okay?
Now I'm not saying Michael's innocent in all this. Clearly, the man has problems. I don't know what guy was up to, but here's my best guess after watching cable news and various MJ specials for the last 3 years. He's a kid at heart, blah, blah, blah, he's into a little kid cuddling, maybe a naked shower or two, and even a little help in the masturbation department. But I don't think there's any ass play going on. Call me naive, but Mike is a 12 year old, and 12 year old's don't like ass yet. This may be right or it may be wrong, but if a man with all of his fame and money and craziness really did something horribly wrong, and the Santa Barbara prosecutor wanted to be this famous, I think they would've easily nailed him to the wall. And they didn't. So DA's, your job is pretty simple: figure out who's the bigger money grubbing fame whore, and believe the other guy.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Diary of Yesterday
Some of you may remember that I did a guide to unemployment, in which I documented a day in the life of me sitting around. Well, here's the reverse of that - this is how my yesterday went (and note the lack of getting to watch Beverly Hills 90210)
11pm (the night before): I get a call from work informing me that the star of our show has requested that I accompany him to the promo shoot the following day. The network is shooting a bunch of stuff to air as commercials to promote the launch of the show. I am very flattered until I realize what this means: a huge crew, executives, and the star of our show all waiting for me to come up with a funny line. I guess that kinda goes along with the whole "comedy writer" position I've been given, but come on, that's hard. After this horrific vision hits me, an even worse thing happens: I am told that the call time is at 7:30am. I got off work tonight at 9pm. This is unfortunate.
6:20am: Alarm goes off, I hit the snooze.
6:30am: Alarm goes off, I hit the snooze.
6:40am: Alarm goes off, I drag my ass out of bed.
7:30am: I get lost (for the first time of the day, there will be more).
7:35am: I recover and arrive. I hear my name being called from a plush trailer that his holding our star, who is getting his makeup done. The trailer is sick - good to be rolling with the star.
7:45am: I meet the two producers who are in charge of the shoot for the network. They are very courteous as they take me on a tour of the different setups we'll be shooting and explain the concept of the promos. They seem to actually believe that I have any clue as to what I'm doing. Even though it's their shoot, their ideas, their promos, they have written nothing and expect us to come up with all the funny. Typical promo people. Ridiculous. They actually say "If you can come up with a bunch of 5 second hilarious rants, that would be great." Sure, let me just write some of those up for you.
During this tour, I note the nice looking food that seems to be everywhere, I'm talking bacon, pancakes, waffles, fruit, everything. I am happy, because I normally hate all food, especially catered food.
8am: The first thing we're shooting is in a church setting and involves religion. I need a joke. I frantically call my dad and ask him for some of his classic religious jokes. Even though he tells me one almost every time I see him, he is suddenly unable to come up with one. See? Being funny on the spot is hard. He comes through with a couple, but they all either involve "the jews" or aren't appropriate for a hip urban comic, they're possibly more suited to a "Henny Youngman" type. Looks like I'm on my own, a brutal way to shed my familial attachments and do stuff on my own. I return to the trailer and talk with the star and we start trying to come up with stuff. Luckily, he has an encyclopedic knowledge of every joke he's done since 1987, and he's able to retrieve one from his mid '90's collection.
8:30am: The religious shoot. Everyone likes the 15 second version of the joke, but we need a 5 second and a tag. All eyes turn to me. My 5 second is just an edit of the 15 second, but somehow someway my tag is brilliant. Whew, sigh of relief. I also come up with a 5 second that involves the punchline "Sorry, Father, but I was just looking for a hail mary, not a happy ending." Shockingly, they don't go with this one.
10:30am (we did a lot of sitting around): Next one involves the Amish. Thank God I own that "Big Book of Amish Humor". Just kidding. Fucking Amish jokes? The star comes up with a couple generic stuff involving technology (cause Amish don't use that shit). I come up with something that resembles "Amish are retarded. Sure that barn raising's clever, but you know what else is clever? Electricity!" Not my best but okay. But I make up for it with the tag. It ends with the star hanging out with a big Amish family (who are all perfectly cast and dress, so much so that everyone that they were a real Amish family). And I give up this line: (Star in the middle of the family, clapping his hands together) "All right, who's up for some premarital sex?" You know you love that line, bitches.
11 - 2pm: Hanging out in the winnebago with the star, his wife, his brother, his assistant, and the makeup/hair guy, we shoot the shit and relax. It's nice. Of course, my issues with food come up and I have to explain for the 5 millionth time how I've never had soup, milk, coffee, or tea, I take the cheese off pizza, I don't like sauce on spaghetti, etc, etc, etc. Luckily, I don't mention how I hate all animals (yes, all animals!) because that would've been a 3 hour discussion into my (supposed) mental problems.
Despite my peculiarities, lunch is great. Good salad (wishbone italian dressing!), strawberry's, carrots and celery, and white rice. That's usually dinner at my house. And then chocolate cake. Let me eat what I want to eat and leave me alone!
2:30pm: Next is a "gangsta" setup with mean looking black dudes. One of the dudes is Krayzie Bone from Bone Thugz N' Harmony. He's a fucking extra. So sad. That group was great, they practically defined my college experience. And now he's an extra in this hack shit. Sucks. I "holla'd" at him and we talked about our Sidekicks (so many of you are jealous right now).
Despite my earlier successes, I'm still nervous as hell. The star does a black guy rant but I'm unable to come up with a five second. I tweak one of his things and he doesn't like it that much, then I pitch it to the execs and they like it a lot. He agrees and does it and everyone is happy. I didn't come through that well here which is weird, because I like to brag about how I have a black man living inside me.
3:30pm: We move on to the "family portrait" setup. Since the rant is going to be something about the star's family, which is his bread and butter, he tells me to sit this one out. I gladly do. It's good. But then we need a tag and I come up with something here. I'm getting so lucky. It's not like I'm killing it if it's sounding that way, the star was doing most of the work and he has so much shit in his head it's amazing. But when we needed a line, I at least didn't look like a complete fraud.
4:30pm: Green screen, and some random rants. The star takes care of the first two, and for the third, I finally put into play something I've been dying to do: my "skinny chicks" bit. It goes something like "Hey, hollywood actresses, stop losing so much weight. Healthy dudes don't like 12 year old boys, healthy dudes like boobs." Not exaclty Woody Allen but come on, it hits our target demo right in the sack.
At this point I'm stoked. I think we're ahead of schedule and almost home free. But then the producers come up to me and say they need to shoot the star "hosting" a show. Which means they're going to just insert him around already filmed material and he tells everyone to watch our show and gives the date and time. And then they drop a bomb: "we need, like, I don't know, 10 30 second hilarious sketches. We hired extras to play writer's and Carlos assistants, so you think you can come up with those right now so we can start shooting." Fucking promo people!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What is your job exactly and why the fuck am I doing?!? Can I get your salary for the day?
I inform the star and we bang some stuff out.
6:15: The food guy comes around with little pieces of grilled cheese. I partake. I love this place!
5-7pm: We do little sketches that border around comedy, and everyone seems to be very happy. That's a wrap, yeah!
So, after this I went home and put in the "Overnight" DVD I just got from Netflix, right? NO. You see, the star is doing standup an hour away and all of the writer's and other staff are going. So it's off to the show.
8:00: I call the club and they give me directions. I'm supposed to get off the freeway I'm on when I hit the 57.
8:30" I near the San Diego border (I'm lost, for the second time today). I call the club again. "You said the 57, right?" "Yep, did you miss it?" "I think so." "Well, it doesn't say the 57 while you're on the freeway, you have to get off on the 91 and then it turns into the 57."
"Thank you, you are a giant whore."
9:05: Get to the club. Watch the show. Have a delightful beer or three.
11:30pm: Show ends. Get to go home, right? Nope.
11:30 - 12:45am: Everyone gathers around and we talk about the show and our show and all the things that are going wrong. It's good, but I'm barely standing up.
1:15am: Drive home and as a special treat, throw in R. Kelly's "Happy People" album.
1:20am: Get onto the wrong freeway (lost, third time).
1:45am: Finally arrive home. Anybody up for some premarital sex? I get no takers, and I fall quickly asleep.
11pm (the night before): I get a call from work informing me that the star of our show has requested that I accompany him to the promo shoot the following day. The network is shooting a bunch of stuff to air as commercials to promote the launch of the show. I am very flattered until I realize what this means: a huge crew, executives, and the star of our show all waiting for me to come up with a funny line. I guess that kinda goes along with the whole "comedy writer" position I've been given, but come on, that's hard. After this horrific vision hits me, an even worse thing happens: I am told that the call time is at 7:30am. I got off work tonight at 9pm. This is unfortunate.
6:20am: Alarm goes off, I hit the snooze.
6:30am: Alarm goes off, I hit the snooze.
6:40am: Alarm goes off, I drag my ass out of bed.
7:30am: I get lost (for the first time of the day, there will be more).
7:35am: I recover and arrive. I hear my name being called from a plush trailer that his holding our star, who is getting his makeup done. The trailer is sick - good to be rolling with the star.
7:45am: I meet the two producers who are in charge of the shoot for the network. They are very courteous as they take me on a tour of the different setups we'll be shooting and explain the concept of the promos. They seem to actually believe that I have any clue as to what I'm doing. Even though it's their shoot, their ideas, their promos, they have written nothing and expect us to come up with all the funny. Typical promo people. Ridiculous. They actually say "If you can come up with a bunch of 5 second hilarious rants, that would be great." Sure, let me just write some of those up for you.
During this tour, I note the nice looking food that seems to be everywhere, I'm talking bacon, pancakes, waffles, fruit, everything. I am happy, because I normally hate all food, especially catered food.
8am: The first thing we're shooting is in a church setting and involves religion. I need a joke. I frantically call my dad and ask him for some of his classic religious jokes. Even though he tells me one almost every time I see him, he is suddenly unable to come up with one. See? Being funny on the spot is hard. He comes through with a couple, but they all either involve "the jews" or aren't appropriate for a hip urban comic, they're possibly more suited to a "Henny Youngman" type. Looks like I'm on my own, a brutal way to shed my familial attachments and do stuff on my own. I return to the trailer and talk with the star and we start trying to come up with stuff. Luckily, he has an encyclopedic knowledge of every joke he's done since 1987, and he's able to retrieve one from his mid '90's collection.
8:30am: The religious shoot. Everyone likes the 15 second version of the joke, but we need a 5 second and a tag. All eyes turn to me. My 5 second is just an edit of the 15 second, but somehow someway my tag is brilliant. Whew, sigh of relief. I also come up with a 5 second that involves the punchline "Sorry, Father, but I was just looking for a hail mary, not a happy ending." Shockingly, they don't go with this one.
10:30am (we did a lot of sitting around): Next one involves the Amish. Thank God I own that "Big Book of Amish Humor". Just kidding. Fucking Amish jokes? The star comes up with a couple generic stuff involving technology (cause Amish don't use that shit). I come up with something that resembles "Amish are retarded. Sure that barn raising's clever, but you know what else is clever? Electricity!" Not my best but okay. But I make up for it with the tag. It ends with the star hanging out with a big Amish family (who are all perfectly cast and dress, so much so that everyone that they were a real Amish family). And I give up this line: (Star in the middle of the family, clapping his hands together) "All right, who's up for some premarital sex?" You know you love that line, bitches.
11 - 2pm: Hanging out in the winnebago with the star, his wife, his brother, his assistant, and the makeup/hair guy, we shoot the shit and relax. It's nice. Of course, my issues with food come up and I have to explain for the 5 millionth time how I've never had soup, milk, coffee, or tea, I take the cheese off pizza, I don't like sauce on spaghetti, etc, etc, etc. Luckily, I don't mention how I hate all animals (yes, all animals!) because that would've been a 3 hour discussion into my (supposed) mental problems.
Despite my peculiarities, lunch is great. Good salad (wishbone italian dressing!), strawberry's, carrots and celery, and white rice. That's usually dinner at my house. And then chocolate cake. Let me eat what I want to eat and leave me alone!
2:30pm: Next is a "gangsta" setup with mean looking black dudes. One of the dudes is Krayzie Bone from Bone Thugz N' Harmony. He's a fucking extra. So sad. That group was great, they practically defined my college experience. And now he's an extra in this hack shit. Sucks. I "holla'd" at him and we talked about our Sidekicks (so many of you are jealous right now).
Despite my earlier successes, I'm still nervous as hell. The star does a black guy rant but I'm unable to come up with a five second. I tweak one of his things and he doesn't like it that much, then I pitch it to the execs and they like it a lot. He agrees and does it and everyone is happy. I didn't come through that well here which is weird, because I like to brag about how I have a black man living inside me.
3:30pm: We move on to the "family portrait" setup. Since the rant is going to be something about the star's family, which is his bread and butter, he tells me to sit this one out. I gladly do. It's good. But then we need a tag and I come up with something here. I'm getting so lucky. It's not like I'm killing it if it's sounding that way, the star was doing most of the work and he has so much shit in his head it's amazing. But when we needed a line, I at least didn't look like a complete fraud.
4:30pm: Green screen, and some random rants. The star takes care of the first two, and for the third, I finally put into play something I've been dying to do: my "skinny chicks" bit. It goes something like "Hey, hollywood actresses, stop losing so much weight. Healthy dudes don't like 12 year old boys, healthy dudes like boobs." Not exaclty Woody Allen but come on, it hits our target demo right in the sack.
At this point I'm stoked. I think we're ahead of schedule and almost home free. But then the producers come up to me and say they need to shoot the star "hosting" a show. Which means they're going to just insert him around already filmed material and he tells everyone to watch our show and gives the date and time. And then they drop a bomb: "we need, like, I don't know, 10 30 second hilarious sketches. We hired extras to play writer's and Carlos assistants, so you think you can come up with those right now so we can start shooting." Fucking promo people!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What is your job exactly and why the fuck am I doing?!? Can I get your salary for the day?
I inform the star and we bang some stuff out.
6:15: The food guy comes around with little pieces of grilled cheese. I partake. I love this place!
5-7pm: We do little sketches that border around comedy, and everyone seems to be very happy. That's a wrap, yeah!
So, after this I went home and put in the "Overnight" DVD I just got from Netflix, right? NO. You see, the star is doing standup an hour away and all of the writer's and other staff are going. So it's off to the show.
8:00: I call the club and they give me directions. I'm supposed to get off the freeway I'm on when I hit the 57.
8:30" I near the San Diego border (I'm lost, for the second time today). I call the club again. "You said the 57, right?" "Yep, did you miss it?" "I think so." "Well, it doesn't say the 57 while you're on the freeway, you have to get off on the 91 and then it turns into the 57."
"Thank you, you are a giant whore."
9:05: Get to the club. Watch the show. Have a delightful beer or three.
11:30pm: Show ends. Get to go home, right? Nope.
11:30 - 12:45am: Everyone gathers around and we talk about the show and our show and all the things that are going wrong. It's good, but I'm barely standing up.
1:15am: Drive home and as a special treat, throw in R. Kelly's "Happy People" album.
1:20am: Get onto the wrong freeway (lost, third time).
1:45am: Finally arrive home. Anybody up for some premarital sex? I get no takers, and I fall quickly asleep.
Monday, June 06, 2005
dancing with the stars misinformation
FADE IN:
INT. WEST HOLLYWOOD RESTAURANT
6 GAY MEN sit at a table eating chicken and salad. Sitting at a nearby table, BRIAN - extremely handsome - sits alone after a hard day's work. The gay men prattle on and Brian can't help but overhear.
Gay #1
Did you guys watch "Dancing with the Stars" last night?
Gays (all)
Oh my God! I did! I didn't! How was it? It was amazing!
Gay #2
Who was on it?
Gay#1
That guy from Seinfeld.
Gay#2
Which guy from Seinfeld?
Gay#1
You know, Elaine's boss. J. Pearson.
Gay #4
That wasn't his name. It's J. Peabody.
Gays (all)
That's it! Right, J. Peabody!
Brian shakes his head at the gays lack of pop culture knowledge.
Gay#1
Right. It was J. Peabody, and also that guy from 'NSYNC.
Gay#2
Oh my God! A guy from 'NSYNC?
Gay#1 nods his head as steam begins to blow out of Brian's ears - obviously he's referring to Joey McIntyre from New Kids on the Block fame.
Gay#2
Anyone else?
Gay#1
Yeah, there was also a black guy, a boxer.
Gay#2
Really?
Gay#1
I forget his name, he might've been a champion or something?
Gay#2
Right. I know who you're talking about.
Gay#1
He's not Mike Tyson but he's kinda like him.
Gay#2
Right, right.
Brian has had enough. He interrupts what could barely called conversation.
Brian
Dammit! What the hell is wrong with you? It was Evander Holyfield. The guy from 'NSYNC as you called him was Joey McIntyre from New Kids on the Block, or as they were later known, NKOTB, and Elaine's boss on Seinfeld was named J. Peterman!
The gays are taken aback.
Gays (all)
Sorry.
Brian
You should be. I mean, you ARE all gay, aren't you?
They nod their head in sheer embarrassment.
Brian
Come on, you of all people should know this stuff!
Silence fills the air. It's clear the gays are sorry and Brian has perhaps gone a little too far.
Brian
All right, then, go back to eating your chicken and talking sassy or whatever it is you do. But please, if you can't get it right, then shut the hell up!
INT. WEST HOLLYWOOD RESTAURANT
6 GAY MEN sit at a table eating chicken and salad. Sitting at a nearby table, BRIAN - extremely handsome - sits alone after a hard day's work. The gay men prattle on and Brian can't help but overhear.
Gay #1
Did you guys watch "Dancing with the Stars" last night?
Gays (all)
Oh my God! I did! I didn't! How was it? It was amazing!
Gay #2
Who was on it?
Gay#1
That guy from Seinfeld.
Gay#2
Which guy from Seinfeld?
Gay#1
You know, Elaine's boss. J. Pearson.
Gay #4
That wasn't his name. It's J. Peabody.
Gays (all)
That's it! Right, J. Peabody!
Brian shakes his head at the gays lack of pop culture knowledge.
Gay#1
Right. It was J. Peabody, and also that guy from 'NSYNC.
Gay#2
Oh my God! A guy from 'NSYNC?
Gay#1 nods his head as steam begins to blow out of Brian's ears - obviously he's referring to Joey McIntyre from New Kids on the Block fame.
Gay#2
Anyone else?
Gay#1
Yeah, there was also a black guy, a boxer.
Gay#2
Really?
Gay#1
I forget his name, he might've been a champion or something?
Gay#2
Right. I know who you're talking about.
Gay#1
He's not Mike Tyson but he's kinda like him.
Gay#2
Right, right.
Brian has had enough. He interrupts what could barely called conversation.
Brian
Dammit! What the hell is wrong with you? It was Evander Holyfield. The guy from 'NSYNC as you called him was Joey McIntyre from New Kids on the Block, or as they were later known, NKOTB, and Elaine's boss on Seinfeld was named J. Peterman!
The gays are taken aback.
Gays (all)
Sorry.
Brian
You should be. I mean, you ARE all gay, aren't you?
They nod their head in sheer embarrassment.
Brian
Come on, you of all people should know this stuff!
Silence fills the air. It's clear the gays are sorry and Brian has perhaps gone a little too far.
Brian
All right, then, go back to eating your chicken and talking sassy or whatever it is you do. But please, if you can't get it right, then shut the hell up!
Friday, June 03, 2005
Summertime is here!
I don't know if anyone will agree with this but I think there are "man cycles", or at least, "people cycles". My man cycle works as follows: June to December - happy/fun loving/creative genius, January to May: lazy ass/angry little man/hack. Over the last couple of years I have figured this out and tried to break out of it, but nothing can be done. I try and try and try, yet the best I can do are half-started shit ideas. Nothing good ever comes from those months. No matter what, I do almost all of my good work from now until december every year, and literally do nothing the rest of the time. I don't get it. And I don't know if other people have this because I've never heard of it before. I'm embarrassed and ashamed to say it but it's true: I just got off my period. I don't know why this affliction has struck me. Maybe I'm like a superhero who's weakness is a 6 month hibernation period and who's strength is an incredible ability to not get women. I don't know. Maybe it's like how hookers in a brothel start getting on the same menstrual cycle, I grew up with sisters so now I have a menstrual cycle. Whatever it is, it sucks. Until the good months start, and that's the zone we've just entered. Yeah!
But seriously, it's been a rough couple of months. The ideas haven't been flowing, I haven't been feeling too good. Other than getting this job, things have been relatively crappy. And judging from my piles of fan mail, some of you have detected a bit of bitterness on my part. Well, you didn't understand - I had PMS.
Luckily for all of us, someone very special visited me last night. It was that magicaly mystery man who I haven't seen for 6 whole months - it was the idea fairy. He visited me and suddenly I had comedy gold flowing from my brain to my fingers to my keyboard to my computer. It was quite a relief, I had almost forgotten how hysterical I am. It's good to be back.
It's been a busy week, my big field shoot went extremely well, but hopefully i will be writing more and writing more funny...
But seriously, it's been a rough couple of months. The ideas haven't been flowing, I haven't been feeling too good. Other than getting this job, things have been relatively crappy. And judging from my piles of fan mail, some of you have detected a bit of bitterness on my part. Well, you didn't understand - I had PMS.
Luckily for all of us, someone very special visited me last night. It was that magicaly mystery man who I haven't seen for 6 whole months - it was the idea fairy. He visited me and suddenly I had comedy gold flowing from my brain to my fingers to my keyboard to my computer. It was quite a relief, I had almost forgotten how hysterical I am. It's good to be back.
It's been a busy week, my big field shoot went extremely well, but hopefully i will be writing more and writing more funny...
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