hooooollllllywooood

Hugh Hefner donated 900,000 bucks to save the Hollywood sign this week. I have a feeling people are gonna argue that he should have given his money to a worthier urgent cause but I gotta say I find it really cool. Cole and I went out to LA for the first time a little over two years ago. The whole place was so fucking weird and wacky. I guess sorta like coming to New York if you’ve never been before. Except completely different in every way possible.

Every block reminded me of a movie or a movie star or a TV show or of the mere existence of Courtney Cox in general (that is… if she really DOES exist at all) (PS- she does. Its proven every week on ABC’s ‘Cougar Town’) (No really. That wasn’t a joke about Courtney Cox being a virtual hologram of her former self nowadays but a plug that you can watch Courtney Cox every week on whats surprisingly a pretty popular sitcom) (BTW- I have no problems with Courtney Cox or any of the ‘Friends’ cast for that matter…. in fact, I’m a fan) (Finally, do you have Google Alerts, Courtney Cox? If so- HEY!)

I found LA to be just as neat as it is weird. I was overwhelmed by the driving aspect. We drove a Smart Car around town one day and I literally cried for a good seventy five percent of that time. Not because of all those weird reminders of Courtney Cox’s existence but because I was so fucking nervous about driving in Los Angeles. In that cartoon tiny car. It was pretty frightening.

Every meeting we went to took place in an office covered in posters for movies and sitcoms that had literally been my religion growing up. We went to a party and ate cheese off the same plate as Dana Delaney. This town is NO fucking joke, y’all.

At various times, or rather a good percentage of the time, I was pretty intensely freaked out by the place. It was SO unlike home. SO unlike anywhere I’d ever been and overall just really weird. We happened to be staying at an apartment in West Hollywood and from the balcony we had an insane view of the Hollywood Hills along with it, the Hollywood Sign. It was magical, dizzying, and beckoning high atop the hill…. just below the observatory where they filmed ‘Rebel Without A Cause’ and every night Cole and I would stay up super late, sit on the balcony, drink wine, and stare up at the huge white sign.

There was one especially intense moment for me…. when I found myself looking at the whole situation; at Cole, at me, at the street below, at the Norma Desmond-esque houses lining the Hollywood Hills, and at that giant glowing sign framing it all. It was hard for me to wrap my mind around being there…. it was somehow different than my ongoing New York ‘Holy Shit’ moments…. there was something exotic and dreamlike about that place….. about that sign…. about the whole thing. You could smell TV and movies being made right across the street and that does something to a kid who grew up on Roseanne Barr and Lucille Ball.

I’m really glad somebody didn’t tear down the Hollywood sign and build condos…. cause I think it’d sorta screw with that kinda magic there. And I happen to think magic is kinda cool. Oh. And so are you, Courtney Cox.

juggling.

Yesterday I went to the park to read. Yesterday being Saturday. And the park being Central Park. Oh…. and the reading being New York Magazine. It was GORGEOUS weather. Sunny and warm. Similar to how I spent last weekend. Every fucker in town was out in Sheep’s Meadow likely questioning why the hell they decided to squeeze into the literal mob of sun bathers and frisbee throwers. I decided to stroll over to Literary Way and read on a bench like a sensible character out of ‘When Harry Met Sally’ or ‘Gay Guy Without Much To Do On Saturdays’ (the lesser known Rob Reiner/Nora Ephron work made two years after ‘Harry/Sally’ starring NOT Meg Ryan as originally planned but oddly…. a fairly unknown Teri Hatcher in a really bad blond Raquel Welch designed wig)

I took a seat in the shade, reading an article about a movie I have no interest in seeing when I noticed this boy…. must have been nine years old or so…. juggling three juggling pins…. he then switched to balls…. then some sorta spinning thing on a string that he’d throw into the air and catch. He was really rather impressive and captivating. He had no real charisma or anything…. but just this raw skill and really good hair. He had a big bucket for people to throw change into and he just sorta wandered back and forth juggling without any enthusiasm whatsoever which somehow made him all them ore captivating.

At first no one was really watching….. then…. out of no where a crowd formed around him. The crowd watched, cheered him on, while he made no eye contact with anyone…. just juggled. They threw money at him. Then slowly the crowd disappeared. He’d keep juggling alone, then take a break to eat a banana, or drink some water, then juggle some more. A crowd would form. Then go away. Then form again. And on and on and on.

I was fascinated by how unphased he was each time…. from both the crowd and then the no crowd…. and then the crowd again… no matter what he just kept doing his thing without a care in the world. I thought there was a lot to learn from that. The idea of just fucking juggling whether people are watching or not…. if a nine year old boy juggles long enough on a beautiful day in Central Park…. somebody is gonna stop and watch…. but you gotta be prepared to juggle whether they’re stopping or not.

Y’know?

all those zombies. won’t they just leave me alone?

I watched ‘I Am Legend’ tonight. For the first time. Because for me its always 2007. I really dug it. I’d always heard I would. Sorta like Wall-E with zombies and Will Smith’s hot arms. My kinda movie.

I keep thinking about who I’d most like to be stuck with in a post apocalyptic virus infected New York City defeating zombies and I haven’t made up my mind yet. I suppose the obvious choice would be someone smart enough/strong enough/brave enough to protect me/them but like- do I REALLY want to spend the next ten? twenty? forever? years with some brilliant scientific war hero who MAY or MAY NOT be fun and interesting? Not really. Unless, of course, he had the kind of arms Will Smith has in ‘I Am Legend’.

If you ask me, you ought to think outside the box when it comes to picking your sidekick in a zombie infested nation. Why NOT Suzie Orman? Why NOT Craig T. Nelson? Why NOT the little tiny lady from ‘Poltergeist’?!

Look. I’m not saying Suzie Orman’s unique skills of money management and being totally fierce are gonna protect you from the zombies but what I AM saying is- sure she may not be the obvious choice but I don’t think you should rule her out.

I’ll be honest…. Craig T. Nelson was really just a throw away joke (and it was the second draft- originally I wrote that line as Joey Fatone and then I was all- Joey Fatone?! Thats too on the nose- Craig T. Nelson- now THATS comedy) but the truth of the matter is- Joey Fatone would probably be better at dealing with zombies than Craig T. Nelson. Sorry, Craig.

But who would I rather spend all that time with?

The guy who recorded ‘Bye, Bye, Bye’? Or America’s favorite sitcom coach, Craig T Nelson?

Exactly.

The little tiny lady from ‘Poltergeist’ is not a bad idea. Is she still alive? I guess it doesn’t matter if she isn’t because she already proved she can talk to the dead and stuff. I feel like she could use those communicating skills with talking to the flesh eating zombies and be like: “GUYS, chill out and stop eating everybody’s flesh…. this is realllllllly getting old.”

But maybe, in the end, Will Smith really is the guy you want to be with. I mean, obviously- he’s got that winning smile and killer bod throughout the whole thing…. plus he’s smart and has almost figured out a way to fix everything (not unlike Suzie Orman, of course). There’s the whole post traumatic I talk to mannequins stuff the character has to deal with but besides that I guess Will Smith might be the best choice.

I don’t know what kind of reviews ‘I Am Legend’ got back when it came out but I know this….. if you held a gun up to my head right now and demanded I choose being the last two people in a zombie infested earth with Suzie Orman, Craig T. Nelson (Joey Fatone), the little tiny lady from ‘Poltergeist’, or Will Smith? I’m pretty sure I’d say Will Smith.

And thats why ‘I Am Legend’ is a good movie.

erin markey is a genius and you should see her new show.

skating.

I got really into staying in the house this weekend. Cole and I took some time off from shooting and it felt so lovely to have free time with the knowledge that come Monday, I’d be returning to work like a real grown up. (Or rather, a grown up who spends his day making pee jokes and wearing wigs at his apartment)

Yesterday afternoon around 5PM, I finallllly pried myself off the sofa. I’d spent the majority of the day watching ‘The Fourth Floor’, a really odd movie starring Juliette Lewis and featuring Shelley fucking Duvall. From 1999. I’m not quite sure but I would venture to guess its one of Shelley’s last movie appearances. Juliette’s too? I dunno. I love both of those ladies very much. Oh. And Artie Lang was in it too.

Needless to say, I decided I needed some fresh air and I took a stroll uptown with my friend Doug. We wandered into the park. The sun had gone behind some pretty thick clouds that I can only assume have something to do with the aggressively apocalyptic volcanic ash drifting through our airwaves and offering the early demise of all air travel and what will likely become the return to our dependency on boats and waterways. That is until we’re immersed solely in water and we must resort to ‘Water World’-esque colonies and we turn to Kevin Costner as our official leader. Not Kevin Costner’s character in ‘Water World’…. I mean the actual Kevin Costner.

But I digress.

So I ended up in Central Park and we happened upon this paved section near Literary Way and Bethesda Fountain where every Sunday (I’m told) they rope it off and turn it into an impromptu full on skating party. There is music blaring. Disco! There are hundreds of people in roller skates going around and around the make shift rink and the city’s weirdest denizens all come out of the wood work to skate, to watch, to sing, to dance, to jump, to hold hands. Wacky ladies in red bob wigs and black leggings. The kind of women who carry six fairway bags up Amsterdam Avenue and talking to themselves in thick indistinguishable accents. That guy who dresses up like a drag pirate. Have you ever seen him? You’d know him if you saw him. Carries a poodle and parrot as well. Wacky character. Magical soul. Huge muscley men, little old ladies, moms, kids, tourists, everyone.

Doug and I stopped and watched, becoming transfixed by it all. The entire situation and enviroment seemed to emit positivity and joy, like those Icelandic volcanoes and their meddling apocalyptic ash. I was transported out of Central Park, out of Sunday, out of me to a level of unstoppable joy and just then…. the sun burst through the clouds in this intensely magical way. The skating rink basked in the golden glow and the music played on and on…. or rather, until 6:30 when they have to stop.

It’s amazing to me that something like that can transport you so vividly and powerfully.

Next Sunday. If its nice out. Or even if its not…. walk over to the park, its just Northwest of Literary Way before you get to the fountain. You will experience joy in the coolest of ways. And the sun might just come out.

sunday.

Sunday Sunday
I made grits and eggs
Went to Amy’s Bread
And picked up a scone
Because when it comes to food
I can’t leave it alone.
I just ate it all
the scone, grits, and eggs
I’m feeling rather full
And hung over too
And I’m sitting here waiting for this movie to be through
It’s called ‘Father Goose’
And Cary Grant’s the star
I’m just catching the end
So I’ve got no clue
what the plot points are
When its over I want to watch something great
Like the day I had yesterday
On my ‘Dolores Claiborne’ date.
Kathy Bates and Jennifer Jason Leigh
Doing what they do best
And Chris Plummer and John C. Reilly
And all of the rest
Lets hope I find something as good as that.
That just hits the spot
Without really trying
That leaves me enthralled, amused, and crying
I like days like this
The TV and me
With nothing else to do
Just movies to see
Gonna keep sipping this coffee
Which is sorta stale
And pop a Tylenol and hope it doesn’t fail
The Cary Grant movie just ended
And I still have no idea
What it was supposed to be
But I’m still having fun
The TV and me.

Been a while.

I haven’t been blogging much this week. Or last week for that matter.
And I know you’ve started to notice.
Just last week I got an openly desperate email from Brooke Shields barrading me with complaints about how the lack of my daily blogs has left her with such a deep emotional void in her life, she has ‘not known what to do with herself.’
Of course, none of you have the same strange emotional attachment to my writing that Ms. Shields has*…. which is all based upon our longtime personal relationship and of course, that thing that happened to us and those geese in 1998.

*No offense, Brooke, I love the support—– PS- thanks for those challah rolls you had shipped from Poland. Delicious and a seriously sweet gesture. No pun in intended :-p *

But I digress.

I’ve not been blogging much because we’re full on making ‘Jeffery and Cole Casserole’ right now and I couldn’t be more excited. It’s such a nice feeling to wake up and HAVE something creative to do everyday. It’s teaching me some sort of lesson on how when I’m NOT doing things…. the stagnant energy weighs me down then I somehow let myself fester on it until I get to my lowest of lows. I was talking to my Mom about it and she was pointing out that I’ve always been that way… NEEDING something to do to feel real. When doing, I tend to feel the most in the moment that I ever do. Which is a pretty elating sensation. NOW.

I guess we’re all like this but its hard to realize how important it is until you’re DOING something and you feel just plain good all over, about everything.

We’ve only just started and in the moments that I’ve gotten ridiculously frustrated at the technical equipment, or at my angst towards what I thought was a brilliant idea falling flat, or at my messy understanding of FinalCut software, or insecurities in performing, or whatever…. I think I’ve been happier than I’ve been in a long time.

Which is cool.

I, for one, need to learn how to put the ease, the comfort, the stillness, the pride, and happiness I feel from creating in the moment with a end goal or deadline to the rest of my life and projects. There’s ALWAYS something creative to wake up for every day but sometimes (often time) we’re too busy complaining about what we’re not getting to notice it.

I think thats something we could all grow from figuring out- mastering the NOW…. not just when we’re doing things we love.

But for now…. I’m really enjoying this.
And I’m glad.

Eric met Carl

My very cool friend Eric Gilliland is a very cool TV writer.
Last night he met his idol. Who happens to be one of the most awesome artists of the twentieth century.
This is what Eric wrote about meeting him.
Eric, you’re quite awesome yourself.

“Tonight, I saw Carl Reiner interview/have a conversation with Jules Feiffer at Temple Emmanuel in Beverly Hills. Now, admittedly, that’s a heavily proper-noun-filled sentence. But I’ll continue nonetheless. They were both hilarious, engaging, open, honest, and exactly what you want them to be. Amazing night. I was the youngest one there.

They were both selling books/signing books afterwards and I took them up on it. Now… Carl Reiner is my hero. Unabashedly, I say that. It’s trite at this point for a comedy writer (braggy!) to say that he made me want to do what I do because of the daily 6:30 pm reruns on WGN of “The Dick Van Dyke Show,” but it’s true. And, y’know, all the other stuff he’s done.

I was a PA on NBC’s Sixtieth (Seventieth?) Anniversary Show where a bunch of stars are paraded through and there’s much too much time spent on Sharri Lewis. And it was time to take a picture of the gathering of all the stars, all in one place. The bleachers were set up and, bounding to the top were the “Miami Vice” fellas. In the middle were Klugman and Reiner and assorted Golden Girls and the like, Nell Carter looking like an enormous monolith on pullies and shopping cart wheels. And at the bottom, Bob Hope, Johnny Carson, George Gobel, Berle, you know, the biggies.

It obviously took a while to set this shot up. And Klugman was BITCHING about it the whole time. “C’mon! We got things to do! What’s taking so long?!” Disillusioning, really. Confirming, but disillusioning. But on the exact opposite side of the bleachers was Carl Reiner. Making fart noises. And cracking up the stars that were around him. Just having a blast. Making a tedious event fun. For Barbara Eden. And I looked at this epic scene and decided at that moment that that’s the guy I wanted to become. I wanted to be in my seventies, making fart noises. And in three years, that may come true.

So there I was in the book line tonight. Panicked. Do I say something? Do I tell him what he’s meant to me? Or do I just say “It’s to ‘Eric.’ With a ‘C'”? Because this is The Guy. And I’m never this fan-crazed with anyone, except maybe Ernie Banks and/or certain dead people.

And I get up to him… and I go for it. And I tell him (vomit out, more likely) that I’ve been a comedy writer for twenty years and have had a pretty good career I’m sure he’s heard this a million times but I owe a lot of it to him and watching the Van Dyke show and I can’t thank him enough and stuff like that there. Through stutters and stammers and flop sweat. And he looks at me and says that a lot of writers have told him that – how watching the Van Dyke show daily in reruns moved them to write – and it thrills him that that has happened. He just thinks that’s wonderful. And he signs my book.

And I walk out of Temple Emmanuel on such a high, with such tremendous excitement, that I kinda won’t be the same again. Because I got to tell my aging idol that he changed my life. And he really enjoyed hearing it.”

-Eric Gilliland

Coming back.

Remember last summer? June? July?

It was really hot outside.

Everyone kept seeing trailers for some movie called ‘The Blind Side’ with Sandra Bullock looking like she was playing Kathi Lee Gifford in a Lifetime movie. We all chuckled in dark movie theaters before showings of ‘The Proposal’.

‘When you mess with me, you mess with my family.’

That’s right, Sandy. That’s right.

I was really into margaritas for the beginning of the summer but had switched to Rum and Coke by July. Summer drinks. At present, spring is all about martinis for me. I look like such a douche drinking out of those ridiculously over the top glasses, like an eighteen year old gay boy with a fake ID trying to live out his Carrie Bradshaw dreams.

A lot of people were going back and forth to the beach in June. Or to the park, to sun bathe shirtless, hoping someone will notice how you cut out carbs in April and May to prepare.

Home from college. Dealing with your family for the first time in nine months. Slipping rum into your cokes behind your Mom’s backs.

During that time, my friend Cole and I saw this half hour web thing we created in my apartment after a year of making YouTube videos hit airwaves and become a TV show on Logo. It was super neat, super surreal, super cool.

And now, here we are, almost at June again and happily, it was just announced today that our show- ‘Jeffery and Cole Casserole’- is COMING BACK!

Friday, June 25th.

We’re a few months away but mark your calender, set your DVR, start talking to your friend with cable again.

I am beyond excited.

Summertime. It’s almost here. And Sandra Bullock has an Oscar.

a day in the life

Oprah called this morning.

And I broke the phone.

I broke the phone on purpose.

She’s been doing that a lot lately.

Calling me at five AM.

She’s on Central time, which is an hour behind me.

I mean, if she was on the West Coast I would understand it a little bit better.

When Rachel Ray was out in LA last summer, every night at 4AM, without fail, my phone would start playing Aerosmith’s ‘I Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing’…. we programmed that into each other’s phones one night as a goof, after TP-ing Jane Pauley’s Connecticut place and drinking a handle of this tequilla Rachel had infused with grapefruit.

When Rachel was out in LA, I always answered. I understood that she wasn’t used to the whole three hour west coast time difference, plus with Rachel you never know if she needs bail money or just wants to gab.

But Oprah has NO excuse.

Oprah is one of the most powerful people alive. She travels around the world all the time. Shouldn’t she understand the importance of sleep? And restraints of time zones?

I’m not complaining about hearing from Oprah. AT ALL. I love talking to her and hell, I’ve been known to ‘accidentally’ call her at parties and leave stupid voicemails. There are few people that I enjoy drunk dialing more than Oprah Winfrey. Despite what she might have said in her recent Time Magazine interview, I think she gets a kick out of it.

But these 5AM phone calls have got to stop. I’m already staying up way too late, obsessing over the Golden Globes (I mean, its really just a honor to be nominated but still- these things have a way of getting in your head) and the release of my fragrance line, then by the time I get myself to sleep the phone starts ringing with Big Mama O’s name on the caller id.

If I ignore it, she just calls back…. you know the type…. so today I just took the bat I keep beside my bed in case Tim McGraw decides he wants to try and discuss our break up again….. and I beat the crap out of the phone until it was just a sad pile of broken plastic pieces and glass.

Was it worth the measly four extra hours of sleep?

To be honest. Yes.

Of course now, thats one more thing I’ve got to do today. Pick up my Golden Globes outfit, meet with Loreal, do my Vanity Fair cover, have lunch with my agent, guest on Letterman and now buy a new phone.

Oh. I suppose at some point I’ve also gotta call Oprah back.

God. Somedays I wonder why I even bother. Y’know?