Friday, April 25, 2003


Today is the first day of yet another phase of unemployment. My mission now is to complete a damn good sitcom spec script as soon as possible, pair it with my one existing damn good sitcom spec script to get an agent to take me on as a client, and land a long-awaited staff writing gig. The current vehicle for this meteoric rise... "Scrubs."

In searching for an appropriate show to write, I found the television landscape to be barren and bland. The state of comedy on television is woeful. There are, maybe, a few funny shows. I'm already sitting with a polished spec for "Everybody Loves Raymond", I wrote a "Friends" years ago when that show was still in its prime, "Curb Your Enthusiasm" is hilarious but I feel like the fun is in the improvisation not the writing, "The Office" is fantastic but not yet a known quantity in the industry, "Malcolm in the Middle" is a good one to write but I don't know the show very well, and I like "Will and Grace" but I don't have any desire to write one, unless of course they hired me to. So that leaves "Scrubs," a show I feel comes off as a winning combination of silly and sweet, which fits my voice perfectly. I've read several "Scrubs" scripts, I've watched a handful of episodes on tape, and I've scoured the episode guides to get a sense of the overall arc and fill in any gaps in my knowlege of the show. Now comes the hard part. Brainstorming to find a story I want to tell. Any of you doctors out there have any war stories you want to share?

Thursday, April 24, 2003


Although not one person reacted in any way shape or form, I must formally issue a retraction to a prior post. The red bathing-suited basketball booty featured Tuesday on this site does not in fact belong to Salon's Superhot TV Critic. By all accounts, her posterior is even more spectacular than that! I, for one, thought it was obvious who the derriere in the photo belonged to, but for those of you who failed to identify that unmistakable bottom, it's none other than Bathing Suit Britney. Now Britney is certainly not in need of any sort of makeover, but I was in desperate needed of a segueway, so without further adieu, I proudly direct you to an article on "Extreme Makeover" written by the woman with the greatest ass-et in television criticism. If that isn't titillating enough, maybe the lesbian kiss on "All My Children" is hot enough for ya.


What may be the world's worst pot smoker has been found in Carlsbad, New Mexico. Eighteen year-old Robin Loftin was appearing in magistrate court on Tuesday facing charges of driving with a suspended license and failure to renew his registration. As the judge entered the courtroom, Loftin removed his hat and a joint fell out and hit the floor. Needless to say, that pissed off the judge, who immediately cited the stoner for contempt of court and sent him to a detention center. Loftin, mental midget that he is, just served ten days in jail in March for a marijuana-related charge. Apparently, a cop witnessed the moron hiding his bong in a cabinet at a party. Is this guy an idiot or what?

Wednesday, April 23, 2003


In true voyeuristic fashion, I indulged my curiosity and attended a special screening of "The Real Cancun" this evening. Out... of... control. Wild and fun and flawed, "Cancun" left my head swirling with images and is forcing me to confront my true feelings on the whole reality television craze, which has obviously now set its sights on the big screen. I'm still sorting it all out and will try to formulate an overall opinion overnight with the intention of shedding some light on the seemingly superficial yet inconspicuously complicated subject matter.

Tuesday, April 22, 2003


That Superhot Salon TV Critic is at it yet again with two brand spanking new columns. In "The Real World" With Beer Bongs, she rips into the pack mentality of the frat boys on MTV's "Fraternity Life," but ultimately and surprisingly gives the Greeks the benefit of the doubt. In Reinventing the McDrama, she does yeoman's work in helping to contribute to the rapidly-growing buzz over "Boomtown" and lays heavy praise on writer/creator Graham Yost, all the while presenting an airtight case for NBC to renew the show for a second season.

Oh, and I think I may have found the only known picture on the net of that Superhot Salon TV Critic's ass.

Monday, April 21, 2003


Wow. Got a chance to see The Yeah Yeah Yeahs at the Henry Fonda Theater on Friday night. That's what I call a power trio. Guitarist Nick Zinner and drummer Brian Chase generate a tidal wave of sound and lead singer Karen O surfs the crest. From the moment she strutted out on stage -- picking straws out of her cleavage, putting them in her mouth, then spitting them out -- O owned the joint. She mesmerized the edgy youngish crowd with her writhing and prancing and bending over and a voice alernating between a lioness' roar and blues babe's bawl. Brash and trashy one minute, cute and playful the next, she made it so you couldn't take your eyes off her for one second. Already billed as the next Chrissie Hynde, for a few brief flashes, when she turned her back to the audience, or hopped around on one foot, or flirted with danger by swinging the mike around wildly, she opened a door into the past and reflected Jim Morrison. I echoed the sentiments of a new friend of mine who went to the show with us, when he said "Everyone there either wanted to be her or sleep with her and some wanted both." He stated out loud something I felt for a nanosecond but instantly buried deep down, "I never understood why people wanted to touch something a rock star just sweated on, but when she put that hat on her head then tossed it into the crowd, I understood. I wanted to touch the hat." I too wanted to touch the hat. Karen O made everyone want a piece of her and Friday night they were lucky to get it in such an intimate setting. The newly revamped and reopened Henry Fonda Theater, a Hollywood Blvd. remnant from Old Hollywood, offered concert-goers the opportunity to view the show in a variety of ways -- down and dirty on the floor in front of the stage, civilized and comfortable from the theater seats on the mezzanine level, or with a drink in one hand and a smoke in the other on the outdoor deck with the show projected onto a giant wall. Some great indie rock acts passing through there these days and after Friday night, the Henry Ford now ranks among my favorite venues in LA.

The Yeah Yeah Yeahs have a hit single on the British charts, a brand new album on Interscope Records set for release a week from tomorrow, and the swell of the Brooklyn buzz fueling their rise. The sky might not even be the limit. Yeah.


Will Ferrell is running a marathon today. And it's not just any old marathon he's running, it's the Boston Marathon. If you've seen the funnyman on "Saturday Night Live" in the past, all too willing to showcase his spare tire and pudgy ass, it may be a bit of a stretch to imagine Ferrell in marathon running shape. But he's in it -- weighing a svelt 195 pounds on his now lanky 6-foot-3 body. Ferrell and his wife Viveca ran the New York City Marathon in 2001, finishing in just over five hours. Then the two went on to run the Stockholm Marathon, where Ferrell completed the race in just under four and a half hours. Then in November, Ferrell finished a half marathon in about one hour and forty-five minutes. This is no joke. The slapsticky comedian takes his running very seriously, employing a running coach and the latest technology to improve his time and study the craft of running. Today he's aiming to finish the legendary Boston run in under four hours.

I ran for the first time in a long while this weekend, trying to kickstart a health kick and whip my fat ass into some sort of shape. Last year, during my running heyday, I had two ten-mile runs. If I can find the discipline to take my running to another level, perhaps I'll follow in Ferrell's footsteps...

UPDATE: He did it! Ferrell broke four hours and outlasted Endurance Elvis.