It's So Hard To Type With A Gun In My Mouth (11 page)

Ya know, I have been writing every day for a month and a half... even Neil Simon has unfunny days. Welcome to mine.  Why do I feel like I'm letting you people down? Bad things will happen... I promise you... they're just not happening right this minute. Maybe I could slam my finger in a car door.  The trip to Kaiser would be worth the material.... nah.  I'll just tell you there's nothing happening right now and as soon as I remember one of those shower/toilet stories...  or get hit by a bus... or kidnapped by escaped prison teens... I'll get back to ya.

3:09 PM

I just remembered a story. See...I knew if I just relaxed and gave it some thought, a horrible memory would come back to amuse you. Fuckers!!!!

So I joined this acting class my friends Fred and Mary Willard run. I had met the Willards years ago at The Comedy Store and Fred had asked me to join his comedy troop, The Ace Trucking Company.  Mary and I were writing partners and worked on several TV shows.  Nothing, and I mean nothing, gives me as much joy as seeing Fred's current success. He and Mary so deserve it.

So, anyway, I was in this acting class. I joined because at this point my life was a total disaster. A relationship had just broken up and it was not pretty, I lost a job and I was in a deep depression. Deep. Not even seeing my ex get herpes could cheer me up.   Mary insisted I come to class, "It'll be gud faw ya."  (She's from Boston)

(God! I just took off my shoes and it smells like a yak died in there. )

Anyway. I was driving a Lexus coup at this time. It was a white; two door... the long sleek one! I loved that car; it was my baby. I parked it under a street lamp on Ventura Blvd. so it would be well lit and protected. 10,000 cars an hour drive by this location, it's not like it was in a dark secluded alley.  I did everything the "police guide to saving your car" says. I didn't even give it a thought as I set the burglar alarm. My car would just be there when I got out of class.

I went to class, which lasted about 3 hours. I walked out and the space where my car had been was empty. My first thought, "Did I drive here?"  And then like a bolt, it hit me. My car had been stolen. I ran to the pay phone and dialed 911.  I got the dispatch operator. " Hurry, my car has been stolen." And she says, "Please hold" I'm on hold for 10 minutes. She's back on line, "What is the nature of your call?" 'MY CAR HAS BEEN STOLEN!!!!!" "Please hold." Another ten minutes and she's back. "911 how can I help you?"   "I need a ride." her "Why?" me "Because you're a moron and by now my car is in Ecuador".  She hangs up.

Needless to say the Police were of no help. Car theft to the police is just below home burglar alarms. Did you know that the police will not respond to a home burglar alarm unless you are standing with a gun to your head and have witnessed the thieves putting Grandma's Silver in a gunnysack?  In other words you have to die before they'll respond. And it's so hard to dial when you're dead.

About a month later I get a call from a detective. We found your car. I am elated. "Where was it?"    "On the corner of Slauson and Verdugo.............. Also La Brea and Sunset............. and Pico and De La Crecenta. "  The car had been stripped. They left nothing. I parked a car; the police brought me back a paperweight.  Have you ever had to identify your stripped car? It's like going to the morgue. They had the car covered and when I arrived they pulled back the tarp." Can you identify this car, sir?" "Yes, that's my baby."  And then you fall into the arms of a loved one.

The next stop is the insurance broker.  They offer me 6 thousand dollars for a 48 thousand dollar car. It's like being robbed all over again. I put them on hold and call my attorney. He tells me what to say. I say it. Now I've got 16 thousand. I put them hold and tell him what they bid, he tells me what to say. I get 20 thousand. I tell him what the new bid is and he tells me what to say. I get 26 thousand. I tell him what the bid is now and he tells me what to say... they tell me to go fuck myself. I take the 26 thousand.

The one thing I hate in life is buying a new car. I would rather take my mother to Australia.  I think all car salesmen should be neutered so they don't pass along that annoying gene.  I won't bore you with the details but I bought a Mercedes..., which turned out to be the biggest piece of crap that has ever been put on the road. It's like the Germans are still getting back at the Jews but they've found creative ways to do it. "Let's annoy them to death". This lemon was delivered with the battery dead and it went downhill from there. You know you've got a bad car when the receptionist at the dealership recognizes your voice. "Oh it's you, Mr. Bluestein. Do you need a tow?"

The theft of my car began a three-year life slump. One in which everything I touched turned to shit. Eventually things began to turn around... and that's what I wanted to share with you on this not so funny day. Life is a series of ups and downs. The ups don't last forever...but neither do the downs.  Remind yourself that the next time fate hands you the shit end of the stick. It won't last forever; you are not alone! Hey look at me, Dr. Phil without the annoying southern accent.

I promise tomorrow will be funnier!

March 25, 2006
-  MAGGIE

I owned an English springer spaniel, Maggie, and she owned me for 14 years. I got her through divine intervention. I was sitting at the pool at my house on July 3rd when out of nowhere a voice said... "Go to the pound right now." And I did. The first dog I laid eyes on was Maggie. She and I went through two relationship break ups, three auto accidents, a surgery and an earthquake together. And when I looked into that dog's eyes, I knew she understood me. Only pet owners know what I'm talking about.

At the end of her life she couldn't stand, she peed on herself and she needed help walking.  She was a canine Keith Richards but I could not bring myself to put my beloved friend down. I kept thinking, she'll get better... but she didn't.  And so, one day, I had to bring her to the vet and put her to sleep. It was the saddest and most traumatic day of my life. Just listen to this. And I swear to God, this is true. I decided to take Maggie for one last walk. I was crying so bitterly it would have been easier to just put me to sleep. I got her leash and started down the street, crying all the way. This was our last walk. About 20 yards from my house a kid, in a passing car, threw a full glass of melting ice at me. It hit me in my back and was like a slap in the face that brought me back to reality.

I cleaned myself up and my neighbor, Hadley Arnold, drove with me to the vet. We put Maggie on the table and I started crying so bitterly the vet started crying. Right in the middle of my death scene, Maggie lifted up her head, looked me in the eyes and licked my face. She was saying "Thank you for putting me out of my misery. I love you."  That was it... I was a basket case.  And if it hadn't been for Hadley I would never have gotten through it.  She said something that made it all better. She said, "If Maggie had been out in the wild she would have been culled by the pack a long time ago... you've given her a long and happy life. Now it's time to let her go." (Isn't this just the funniest story you've ever heard?). In all my life I never loved an animal like I loved that dog and I was sure I could never have another pet to replace her.... then came Tori Spelling, the terrier mutt I rescued. I called her Tori Spelling because she had huge eyes and blonde hair...and was as stupid as a brick. She's a nervous wreck this dog. "Sit, Tori" and she whirls in a circle and runs into the bedroom.  She's sweet and adorable and brain damaged.  But... she's good as gold. Doesn't chew, doesn't bark, doesn't make in the house. In other words it's like having a piece of furniture you have to walk. I like Tori; I loved Maggie.

Two years passed after Maggie left and I felt I was ready for another dog. Now mind you, Tori was still here shaking in the corner. I went to the pound. I always get my dogs at the pound. Once on stage I said that and a woman yelled out..."At the pound or by the pound?" So I went to the pound every day for a week and found nothing but pit bulls. It's pathetic. People get a pit bull and think, "What a cute dog for the kids." And then the cute dog rips the toddler's face off. The dog ends up in the pound. The owners should be put in the pound not the dogs.  In any case, I kept coming back and then one day... there was this Golden Retriever there. I walked up to him and he sat and just looked at me with pleading eyes. "Hey, dude! Get me the fuck out of here." I brought him home that day. I know enough about dogs that I didn't bring him into the house but into the garage where I brought Tori in to meet him.  She took one look at him, then looked at me as if to say, "You ungrateful bastard." and ran into the house. To this day she has had nothing to do with him.

Sully was a puppy, 11 months old when I got him.  The first thing he did when I let him into the house was eat the guest bathroom. I'm serious. I put him in there while the painters were here and when I opened the door he had shredded the towels, the toilet seat, the matt, ate the soap and chewed the leg off the table. It looked like I had a punk decorator.

And that brings me to his other wonderful trait. He'll eat anything. So far he's eaten a sponge, a rubber ball, several toys, a shoe, tissues, paper towels, the first step in the living room and copious amounts of cat shit.  I have never seen a dog like this in my life; he ate 18 dollars worth of salmon, a pork chop, a banana, a filet mignon and didn't even fart.  And how does he get this stuff... he simply stands on his hind legs and takes it off the counter. He's almost six feet tall when he stands. So I haven't so much adopted a dog as a basketball player that barks.

I have a small gym in my house. It had rubber mats on the floor. HAD! He's shredded four of the six mats. He chewed the pedal off the stationary bike. His rapidly moving tail has decapitated several indoor houseplants and his nails have gouged my floors beyond repair. He's a wrecking ball that sheds. And that's his other endearing trait...he sheds. I have dog hair tumble weed blowing through my house.

And we haven't even mentioned the cat, Kitty Carlisle. This bitch is a piece of work on a good day, you bring this horse into the house and she becomes Courtney Love.  There was a stand off in my kitchen last week. Carlisle was on the counter and Sully was standing on the kitchen table. The two were frozen.  I heard the theme music from High Noon. I was afraid to get between them because I could lose an eye. Tori doesn't mix in. She's was in the bedroom...shaking.   Finally I just screamed....  "I'M CALLING THE DOG WHISPERER" and they both went to neutral corners.

Let me tell you what my "leave the house" ritual is.

                        A. Tori..."Get in your bed". SHE RUNS!

B. Sully..."Into the bathroom".  HE RUNS. 

I close him in where's he's out of sight so the cat can....

                        C. "Carlisle... get into the bedroom".  And she runs into the bedroom.

I feel like Siefried and what's left of Roy.

But here's the good news. I wouldn't trade a single animal for all the tea in China. I love Sully as much as I loved Maggie and I never thought I would ever say that. He's sitting at my feet as I write this. Tori is in her bed and Carlisle is building a car bomb.

Welcome to my world folks... The Bel Air Wild Kingdom.

March 29, 2006 -
THE BRADY BUNCH VARIETY HOUR

My very first job in this insane business was as a writer on what's become a cult favorite...THE BRADY BUNCH VARIETY HOUR.  That's right... The Brady Bunch Variety Hour, starring Florence Henderson, Robert Reed and a cast of thousands in the pool. My agent sent me up for the interview, he didn't tell me what it was for because he knew I wouldn't go if he even mentioned The Brady Bunch. I NEVER watched the Brady Bunch... who could relate to that? I came from a divorced home... The Brady Bunch? Lost World would have been more like it. So I walk into the office, I'm meeting with Carl Kleinschmidt and Ronnie Graham (remember him? He played Dirt in that famous gasoline commercial) So we're talking and joking and they look at a video of my stand up and it's all good and then I ask... "So what's the show?" And Carl says, "The Brady Bunch Variety Hour."  At that very second a tiny gnat flew right in front of me, as a joke I tried to grab for it. Carl thinks I'm making a comment on the show by making some Three Stooges take, what I was really doing was trying to keep the air clean. But because Carl thought I was putting down the show, I got hired. He was looking for a group of writers who were hip and could write tongue in cheek. And that's the insanity of my business... I had no credits, I had no experience, I couldn't relate to the show but because I was perceived as sarcastic... I got hired.

I've got to tell you, it turned out to be the best experiences of my life. The other writers were Bruce Vilanch and Terry Hart. Terry was an advertising executive who had gotten into writing for television; Bruce was the genius who created Bette Midler's attitude. Carl had a list of credits as long as his arm. Ronnie was a veteran of show business going back to the 50's... and me, Mr. "I don't deserve to be here."