i have a table in hell waiting for me I consider myself a very nice guy. Yes, I’m not especially open and friendly with strangers, but I’m very courteous, always say please and thank you, and if I ever took public transportation in LA I would give up my seat to old folks in a second. However, last night my penchant for having fun at others’ expense – a trait I’m sure most of my friends would be quick to point out – was in full force. I’d still give up my seat to an old lady, I’d just be laughing at her face lift as she sat down. Last night was the premiere for a new TV Movie that Big Production Company produced. And since I did all the coverage on the piece – read each draft and gave notes – I was invited. It was at the WGA (Writers Guild Theatre), right near the Academy where 2 weeks ago I was at the premiere of my film. (I know it seems like I’m going to a lot of these strange Hollywood events, but this is incredibly rare.) Since M. was busy working, I invited my friend Shannon to go. I met Shannon freshman year at NYU and we became friends instantly. She’s beautiful and brash and ballsy and talented and nice and cynical and funny and a real good friend to boot. I knew I’d have fun with her. We arrived exactly at 6 because we were jonesing for free booze and food. We both sat there feeling like such poor white trash because we were giddy heaping this good stuff onto our plates. We stood at little tables drinking Heinekens and eating. And these poor caterers kept assaulting us with their trays, "would you like a tomato sandwich?" "onion tart?" "roast beef medallion?". After a while Shannon and I decided it was a conspiracy because while the nasty tomato on pita lady and the onion tart guy kept coming by, we couldn’t fucking buy a spinach roll or a chicken skewer to save our lives. The ironic thing is that Shannon recently called a catering company for a job, but it doesn’t work with her schedule. I always get weird with people serving me. I’m sure I’ll get used to it but I go out of my way to be nice. Thank you. Please. No thank you. God, I’ll never be able to have a personal assistant. So we ate, feeling vaguely like imposters and thieves because we really didn’t quite belong there and we were enjoying the fact that the booze and food was free just a wee bit too much. We went outside for a smoke, clutching our beers and laughing quite innocently at our own pleasant discomfort when we spotted her. Our mood changed suddenly and we went from kids being allowed to eat at the big table to our normal feral selves as this poor blonde hoe walked by and went inside. She couldn’t have weighed more than 90 pounds. Disgusting. Nasty. Anorexic. Makes Calista Flockhart look like… well, you get the picture. Anyway, Shannon and I immediately started following her, just for fun. She eventually drifted (maybe blown there by the wind?) toward the food and we moseyed on behind her and as she reached for a big olive I said to Shan: how much calories do olives have? And Shan says, oh tons. And I swear this little thing visibly flinched and put back the olive. In our defense I have to say that after that we felt sort of bad. Who knows why she is the way she is. Barring the notion that she may have some horrific wasting disease, many bad factors totally out of her control no doubt pushed her towards anorexia. But if you really look at it, we were making fun of the culture of Hollywood – satirizing it at the expense of this waif. Or maybe we’re just evil. For the record we did also make fun of ugly guys in ugly suits, breast jobs, women with face lifts, dorks on cell phones (soon to be me, I know…), and bimbettes looking for sugar daddies. Regarding the ridiculousness of Hollywood, at one point I looked in the bathroom mirror and realized that my entire ensemble probably cost about 60 bucks, while many men there must have spent a grand easy on their suits. And I looked just as good as them. Oh, the TV movie was pretty good for a TV movie. Well, I must go to sleep so I can make fun of retards in my comedy show tomorrow night. By the way: my synchronicity with my neighbor who happens to be a Big Indie Producer continues eerily. I looked at the reservation list for the play I’m in tonight and guess who has a reservation for tomorrow night? Yes, BIP herself. I don’t know who she knows or why she’s coming, but this is just way too weird to dismiss. Don’t you think? This is where I let Larry King take over my body for a few minutes. I had a Miller Genuine Draft audition today in which I got to randomly read with my commercial veteran friend Todd. Hope it helps...I would never want to own a Jack Russell Terrier, but god are they good dogs...what ever happened to Swatches?...
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