who dat? contest:



"i know!"


yesterday's results:



charlie rose
apparently too easy because everyone and his mom got it

i killed jay mohr

Tonight Todd and I pounded out 10 pages of our script. We’re at 100. Woo-hoo! We’re almost done and we’re meeting again tomorrow night and the next night. Why? Because Todd leaves this weekend for Toronto to shoot a TV show. So we’re racing against the clock.

So tonight we worked on a big action scene where our hero, dressed as a woman, gets into SkyBar (big ultra-hip, you cannot get in because you’re not really famous or a really slutty chick) in efforts to find out who set him up, yada yada. Anyway, a gun or two is drawn and Jay Mohr (young actor – if you don’t know who he is, good for you, keep it that way), who was last seen hitting on our dragged-out hero is accidentally shot. As the action continues, Jay Mohr’s lifeless body floats in the reddening swimming pool.

Is that mean? How would you feel if someone wrote a story in which you died? Is that bad karma for the person? A literary voodoo doll?

Ah fuck it, who cares. It’s Jay Mohr!

Meanwhile…

…I had the best fucking first read-through last night for Twelfth Night. The cast is just incredibly nice and passionate and good. My counterpart in the play just finished doing two Shakespeare plays in rep, under the direction of Sir Peter Hall at the Ahmanson (LA’s equivalent to Broadway). Needless to say I’m plenty nervous. But the cast – most of whom are friends and have worked together on and off for six years – made me feel very comfortable. The director – he’s fantastic. He’s only 28 and has directed about 15 of the Shakespeare plays. Studied in London. I learned more about meter and feet and half-lines and broken lines and prose to verse transitions then I ever wanted to know. And the woman I have to be desperately in love with: hubba hubba. The director talked about wanting us to really fall in love with the person we have to fall in love with. To risk. To go to that place. Things you hear at every first rehearsal, but this time I believe it. And my goal here is to be as open to everything, to the process, as I was in college. I’ve lost some of that trust – having been in mediocre productions – and I’m just going to open my heart, look like a fool, not rely on tricks, and feel free to fall on my face. God, I hope I don’t get burned.

Seriously, I’m very very excited, scared, vulnerable, and nervous. It’s been too long.

Elsewhere…

…I hate the feeling that you might "jinx it", but I’ve now sent about 20 scripts out and the calls keep coming. Actors who have asked for the script make up about a third of the list. Apparently they are desperate for material because, I don’t want to name names, but these are people to whom I have no business sending anything. It’s all heady and will probably die off as quickly as it started, but dammit I’m gonna enjoy it while it lasts. I did however get my first post-read rejection today. "Too soft." I was hurt by her words and began to doubt the script so I wrote, in huge letters on a piece of paper, SHE IS WRONG, and stuck it on my wall. I have to give her credit for calling and asking me to call her back, though, instead of just talking to my machine.

This is where I let Larry King take over my body for a few minutes.

Larry is saddened by the people's lack of concern for American politics. He feels that everyone thinks he's a joke and they just want to hear stars and "rockers" on his show and don't really care about the tough issues that Larry likes to talk about. So fuck it, Larry is going to go host a game show like that assface no-talent dumb-butt Regis. Screw you all!


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