Some people that know me have say that I would benefit from meditation. Is it a coincidence that only one letter separates meditation from medication? (I find that vodka and prescription Xanax relieves stress reasonably well.) I’ve tried to meditate, but it was a disaster. It would be easier for me to negotiate peace in the Mideast. Meditation is like trying not to think of the elephant with polka dots. I just can’t do it. Sorry, Maharishi.

Yoga has often been suggested to me as a spiritual and athletic antidote to the stresses of the modern world. The first time I ever tried yoga was on Kenny Vs. Spenny, and it was hot yoga. Hot yoga, or Bikram Yoga is essentially yoga in a sauna. Now yoga in an air conditioned room is a bitch…in a sauna, it’s punishment. It’s hard to describe Bikram Yoga to the uninitiated. Imagine being in a 40 degrees Celsius (105 Fahrenheit) room, while a New Age-sounding instructor takes you through postures that you would only do in real life if you were in Cirque De Soleil. On top of that, the class runs an interminable hour and a half, after which you feel about as close to death as anything you can do on this planet that’s supposed to be good for you. My girlfriend, after much nagging, convinced me to buy 20 Bikram classes. I’m a disciplined person and was determined to work at yoga until I got the desired results; some sort of spiritual awakening and an overdue introduction to my inner-voice.

The first time I went I was surprised at one of the studio rules: Once class has started, you are not allowed to leave the studio. Period. The instructor said we may, if we’re having trouble, sit or lie down, but you absolutely can’t leave. I flashed on Jim Jones and wondered if we weren’t allowed out, whether the paramedics would be allowed in. I’m fairly certain the no-leaving rule compromised my civil rights, but it was supposed to be good for me.

The first five minutes of the class were decent. The next eight-five minutes, not so much. Forget GITMO, Bikram Yoga is serious torture. I think I’d rather be water-boarded. About a half hour into the class the thought occurred to me that a canister of Zyclon B could have been lobbed in and I might not have complained. You know those yogis that set themselves on fire…after a few minutes of Bikram Yoga, I kind of got those guys. During a particularly sadistic posture that would have made Dick Cheney smirk, my inner-voice finally introduced itself to me. Now I like to think myself a fairly nice guy. I screw up a lot, but I at least try to do the right thing most of the time. That’s why I was so surprised when my inner-voice tuned out to be such an asshole.

Here are some excerpts from a one-way conversation between my inner-voice and my Bikram Yoga instructor.

Yoga Instructor: Bring awareness to resistance.
Inner-voice: I’m painfully aware that my body is resisting the pretzel you’re trying to bend me into.

Yoga Instructor: What we do with resistance is a great area for learning.
Inner-voice: I’d prefer math right now… and I fucking hate math.

Yoga Instructor: How we deal with the resistance in our hamstrings, chest and breath can help us better understand how we deal with resistance in the world off of our mats.
Inner-voice: Are you saying that I’m going to be happy about the plugged toilet I have to deal with when I get home?

Yoga Instructor: Close your eyes and bring awareness to your breath.
Inner-voice: I’m aware that I’m breathing. I’m also aware of how much I hate that I’m paying for this. .

Yoga Instructor: Bring your hands together at your heart and bow your head. This honors the inherent wisdom that sits at the heart.
Inner-voice: Does hoping that the dude in front of me doesn’t fart in my face count as inherent wisdom?

Yoga Instructor: In yogic philosophy the aspect of ourselves, is referred to as the Otma, the highest self.
Inner-voice: I Otma call my attorney. .

Yoga Instructor: Listen to the highest self’s intention for your time on the mat today.
Inner-voice: Okay. I’m listening. My highest intention is telling me to strangle the instructor and never come back.

Yoga Instructor: It’s kind of a cool thing to learn how to take care of yourself in this practice of yoga.
Inner-voice: Kind of cool? It’s fucking 105 degrees in here, asshole.

Believe me, I mean no disrespect to the yoga people. I think they’re probably very nice and recycle. I honestly wish Bikram Yoga worked for me…I probably need it more than most. But I have thought of continuing the practice of Yoga, moving to Vegas and have my inner-voice become the new Don Rickles. Namaste, you hockey puck.

As with my show, the elephant in the room is often the tiresome question: Is it real? I think Celebrity Rehab is real. I have no way of proving it other than it’s my gut instinct. For me, the most questionable moment occurred last week when country music singer Mindy McCready had a full-blown seizure in front of grizzled rehab veteran and former teen star Mackenzie Phillips. Like me, even Mackenzie thought she was joking around. But after seeing it dozens of times – as the moment was endlessly replayed in the teases — I’m going to suspend my disbelief and give Dr. Drew and company the benefit of the doubt. With few exceptions, the show, in general, feels very real to me. And if I found out that it was scripted, or fake, I’d still watch it. I enjoy it. I like to do things I enjoy.

I guess the anonymous part of AA got lost somewhere in the mix. I’m not exactly sure what motivates a celebrity to go on Celebrity Rehab. I’m sure the reasons vary from person to person. Some, I would think, have altruistic reasons, while others, I imagine, want the publicity. But I can’t imagine how that kind of publicity would help their careers. I understand the concept of there’s no such thing as bad press, and that the Americans love of second chances, but this show seems to stretch those concepts to the limit. I might think twice about depending on Seth Binzer to show up for tour dates, or on Amber Smith getting her shit together to get to a photo shoot on time. But that’s me. I guess, in Hollywood, some “heat” comes with cold turkey.

My grandmother, who read the Enquirer religiously, and denied it, would be busting out her grave if she could to watch Celebrity Rehab. I can’t help but wonder what this show would have been like in a different era. Can you fucking imagine? Jackie Gleason drying-out: “How sweeeeet group is!” Indulge me for a moment: Celebrity Rehab in the 1960’s and 70’s with Lenny Bruce, Foster Brooks, Ed McMahon, Freddie Prinze, Mama Cass, Keith Moon, Liz Taylor and Herve Villechaiz. I’m getting a boner just thinking about it. Let’s face it, the celebrities on Celebrity Rehab aren’t exactly A list. In fact, I’ve never heard of most of them. This begs the question: How much could being a low-rent celebrity impact their addictions? I know Dr. Drew digs into their pasts to uncover traumas, but consider Joey Kovar, whose entre into Celebrity Rehab came from a stint on MTV’s The Real World Hollywood. Joey, is it possible that the end of your Real World participation could have created a void in your life that only heavy partying could fill? — Just a thought from one low-rent reality TV guy to another. I, myself, am relatively grounded. I appreciate my celebrity and realize that at any time it could take a leave of absence, or disappear entirely. So, losing my celebrity aside, the triggers I have to worry about are the Toronto Maple Leafs and my mother. Anyone know any dealers?

There have been three incarnations of Celebrity Rehab, plus a Sex Rehab version. I love them all. Here are some of the celebrity addicts and moments that keep me tuning in week after week.

- Amber. Sweet Amber. She managed to be on both Celebrity Rehab 2 AND Sex Rehab 1. I suppose this is the Celebrity Rehab equivalent to a song and dance man. To be fair, Amber is a benign sex addict…what’s called a love addict. This is not to say that love addiction is not serious. It is, and I don’t remember the Beatles singing about love addiction – could the Beatles have been love addicts? In any event, I think Amber is brave. I also wonder if Phil layed the balls to her after they were discharged.

- Jeff Conway. Whoa. It would be difficult for me to put into words how both guilty and exhilarated I feel watching him. Is he the most fucked-up celebrity of all time? Does O.J. and Farah on Letterman count? I still wonder if he really has a bad back, or if he’s just faking it to get the pills? I have to think that he’s legitimately in pain….especially if he ever looks at his current acting resume. Nonetheless, he has raised the bar for celebrity train wrecks. He makes Tara Reid look like Michelle Obabma. I want to say bravo, but acknowledge that it would be entirely inappropriate.

- Then there is Kari Ann Penische. I have publicly sworn a moratorium against making Kari Ann jokes. That said, I will say seriously, that regardless of her past, which was horrible, Kari represents to me almost everything that is wrong with North American human beings, short of criminal aberrations. In lieu of the joke moratorium I will have to move on.

- I will admit to a mild obsession with Heidi Fleiss. I find her fascinating. She has a tough, street intelligence that I admire. But I feel badly for her. First, for going to jail for being the most successful Madame in the history of the world when she could have used those skills towards a great career in American politics. Second, I feel badly that she lives alone in the desert with a bunch of parrots. (To her credit, at least she picked an animal that can maybe one day talk to her. “Polly wants a hooker.”) But I agree with Dr. Drew. She needs to start trusting people again…and hopefully not Tom Sizemore.

- I’m still reeling from Mike Starr’s reaction to meeting Tom Sizemore. It was very strange. I guess he’s not bonding well with Dennis Rodman. Understood. But his seeming instant man crush with Sizemore was both pathetic and adorable. I hope, for Mike that Tom comes back…but not for Heidi.

- Honourable mention to Gary Busey. I love that he initially acted like he was there only to help the others, but came to realize that he was actually one of the patients. He’s a strange dude. I once met him in front of the Trancas Market in Malibu. He was standing outside in the afternoon drinking a bottle of beer from a paper bag. I was pretty young. It was right after he did “The Buddy Holly Story”. He seemed very cool, and fucked up simultaneously. It was great to see him on Celebrity Rehab.

- It was also great to see Rodney King outside of the “can we all just get along” media loop. I really hope he stays sober. He seems like a good man.

- I thought that Phil Varone, from Sex Rehab, was impressive. I absolutely LOVED that he brought up the fact that unlike the others he had a happy childhood and couldn’t understand why he ended up a sex addict. I hate preconceived notions, and his honesty in that regard, was fascinating to me. He also just seemed like a good guy. But he might want to get out of rock music and join a blues band. It will decrease the temptation unless he likes having sex with drunken men.

Did I mention that I enjoy Celebrity Rehab? So much so, that my producer hat is often percolating with spinoffs to the franchise. Dr. Drew, I would like to pitch you some ideas:

Celebrity Relapse

Celebrity Munchausen Biproxy

Celebrity Steroids (think Danny Bonaduce and Major League Baseball).

Celebrity Manic Depression (think Sarah Palin)

Celebrity Irritable Bowel Syndrome

I’m available for pitch meetings.

I hope that this blog isn’t seen as making fun of celebrity addicts. An addict is an addict, regardless of their career, or status in life. I’ve known and have lost a few friends to this disease. Ultimately, all kidding aside, whether Celebrity Rehab is real, or fake, or somewhere in between, I think the show is important. Like with “Intervention”, I believe that only positive things can happen from seeing addiction up close. It would be easy for me slam Celebrity Rehab, but that would be dishonest. I like the show, and I think if people are more apt to watch celebrities, then so be it. In the end, for me, Celebrity Rehab is about honesty, inspiration, humanity, courage and education. If that’s trash TV, then I’m all for it.

Hi there
I’m writing to comment on the new Spenny website that I just found out about the other day.

Matt Labrador
AKA – CanuckBoy
Nova Scotia,
Canada

They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.  Sometimes maybe, but I’m not sure it applies to this malignant breed of the get-a-fucking-life set.  I knew that there were people impersonating me (and Kenny) but reading about the mechanics of these schizophrenic weasels is creepy.  Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not upset. There are plenty of things to be upset about in this world.  This is just pathetic. Nothing more. Nothing less.  I just wanted those that are interested to understand this ugly aspect of chat room culture, so they can take it at face value.  I have no idea what these vermin say in my name. Maybe some of the fake Spennies are decent and more entertaining than me — if so, I could use some time off.  Or, maybe it’s some sort of Munchausen disorder where they like to fan the flames of hatred only to sign in under another name and heroically extinguish it pretending to be me.  Or, maybe their like arsonists, who show up at the scene of the fires they created.   I don’t know. 

But what I do know is that there are some friends of Kenny’s that have nothing better to do than to sit at their computers trying to agitate the world through the anonymous loopholes of the Internet.  I know the pathology, and it’s truly pathetic.  Whether you like me, or think I’m a loser, I appreciate the vast majority of the fans. But the kind of idiots that are described in the above email are the true losers, and the really sad thing is that this blog will probably only encourage them.  Thanks a lot, Al.

Without getting specific, monogamy and my family history is like Kari Ann Peniche and the human race…they don’t mix well. Serial cheating was a way of life in my family. Infidelity was worn proudly as a badge of dishonor and certain members of my family made Tiger Woods look like a Eunuch. I instinctively knew it was wrong, but I love my family and refuse to judge them harshly. Sure they were monogamy-challenged, but I felt loved…admittedly some of the ex-wives were not as understanding. In fact, growing up in that environment led me on an internal culture clash that I’m still trying to rectify to this day. I remember the first time I heard Dr. Laura, a conservative talk radio with a Fascist-like penchant for moral boundaries. Given my upbringing, Dr. Laura offered a fresh perspective. Most of my friends at that time couldn’t believe I listened to Dr. Laura, never mind found her views interesting. One of my cousins, in a radio version of book-burning, actually told me I was not allowed to listen to her. But being a reverse-rebel, I did listen, and it took years of therapy culminating in the too-obvious-for-me-to-see insight that there was a huge gulf between the ideal, Dr. Laura-loving me and the actual me. A similar dynamic has occurred in my relationship to monogamy. Towing the culture’s orthodox line seems untenable. It’s not that I’m against monogamy, it’s just that with the divorce rate hovering over 50%, and who knows how many couples are living in abject misery because they’re afraid to leave the security and comfort of their relationships, it seems to me reexamining monogamy might be a worthwhile pursuit. The statistics are bleak and temptation is everywhere. I have to think of my Grandmother when I pass an American Apparel billboard on the street to keep from getting a public boner. By pressing a certain sequence of buttons on my computer I can access content on the Internet that would make Caligula uncomfortable. And thanks to exercise, improved diets and unhealthy consumerism, women are more beautiful than ever. Sexual cheating is rampant…and they don’t call it cheating because it’s honest. Even some top level religious leaders, whose job it would seem is to at least publicly control their baser instincts, get caught with their private parts in the nookie jar. Dishonesty has, and probably always has been, entrenched in our sexual escapades. It’s a fucking disaster. If society is going to evolve to a healthier place, monogamy needs a makeover…and badly.

First we need to define our terms. Much information about monogamy is anecdotal. Some feel that lifelong sexual monogamy is unnatural and unrealistic. Others feel that sexual monogamy facilitates intimate and lasting relationships. Confused? Not surprisingly, I am. There are presently four kinds of monogamy; social, sexual, genetic and marital. For clarity, I’m only talking about sexual monogamy…but even that needs to be defined. People can be monogamous outside the institution of marriage. Homosexuals can be monogamous. Some parasitic worms are monogamous. Easy access to divorce has given rise to serial monogamy. Apparently, one can have as many consecutive monogamous relationships as possible and technically call themselves monogamous…a monogamy loophole, if you will. But, what about plain old, old-school monogamy, where one has to have sex with the same person for most of their life? Isn’t that the monogamy that our culture promotes through religion, sappy poetry, New Agedness and romantic comedies? Dennis Prager, one of the more reasonable conservative loud-mouths, argues that chronic sexual infidelity a.k.a screwing anything that moves is not desirable because one can never feel satisfied…you’ll always want more. I believe the Rolling Stones had a hit song about this dynamic. Though not as sexy as Mick Jagger, maybe Prager is right, and for that reason alone, thinking rationally about monogamy could be a good idea. If so, is old school monogamy essentially dead? My guess is that people talk the old-school monogamy talk, but probably don’t walk the old school monogamy walk…or at least have unresolved issues walking the walk. Now I’m not completely out of touch. I know about the 14 year old blow-job parties (which sadly became popular after I graduated), and I’ve seen many movies that deal with infidelity, but when I’m out in the real world, I still mostly see the old school monogamy ethos rearing its ideal head. I get it. But (pardon the pun) here’s the rub: Sex feels good. With few exceptions, even bad sex feels good. Sex with someone new is exciting…can we at least agree on that? If you can’t agree with that, please stop reading and immediately seek therapy.

Much of what we know about monogamy and infidelity comes from what are called convenient samples such as volunteer college students and magazine readers. After witnessing a few Spring Breaks and seeing the kind of magazines people are reading these days, forgive me if I’m a tad skeptical about the results of these “studies”. Nonetheless, here are some “facts” that are probably short of the truth: 12 to 26% of women have extramarital sex, while 15 to 43% of men have extramarital sex. The majority of married people remain monogamous during their marriage, and generally women are more sexually monogamous than men. What does this tell you? Even if you take these studies at face value, there’s a tremendous amount of extracurricular sucking and fucking going on. Is that okay?

There are, of course, many alternatives to monogamy…but none have become accepted by the mainstream. There are swingers, prostitutes, polygamists, open relationships and the pragmatic wink and nod system of infidelity, which I understand is very big in Europe. I often envy these sexual hipsters, who have managed to merge sexual variation with honesty. (I believe this is what everyone secretly wants, but few have the balls/labia to live the wet dream.) That said, let’s not forget the seemingly successful monogamists; couples like Ron and Nancy Reagan and Tonya Harding and Jeff Gillooly. I believe on faith that extraordinary monogamous relationships can exist. But, unfortunately, if they exist, they’re very rare, and we shouldn’t create cultural norms around infinitesimal minorities because it creates unreal expectations, couple self-esteem issues and Harlequin romance. But there must be a compromise. Does it have to be a choice between Hefner and Dr. Phil? I believe there is still hope for the sexual monogamist…but hope can only exist with honest dialogue.

Men are pigs. Women are too…just not nearly as many. I can hear some women seething…can you hear seething? In any event, of course, there are women that are as horny, or hornier, than men. They scare me…especially after the third or fourth date. But, again, in a general sense, men are hornier. We are visually stimulated, yearn for multiple partners and are capable, and often prefer, sex without intimacy. Men are programmed to want to spread the seed. I’ve been told it’s in our evolutionary code. And it seems this need exists regardless of the culture’s preference for monogamy. So, either the beast must somehow be tamed, or I’m investing my cash in Hedonism Resorts. And therein lies, or more appropriately lays, our conundrum; the culture says monogamy is good, while some brave, honest men and women say monogamy is not good, or at least very frustrating and boring.

So, here are some unsolicited tips for couples, who, like me, want to be in a monogamous, long term relationships.

1. Blind yourself. (Please consult your physician.)

2. Learn how to sexual role-play without giggling.

3. If sex is getting boring as the years go by, consider having less sex. If sex is getting better as the years go by, stop lying.

4. Improve your imagination skills so you can visualize having sex with someone else, while you have sex with your monogamous lover. (Depending on your lover’s relative security, you may not want to tell them that you’re imagining having sex with Angelina Jolie or George Clooney.) No matter what the thought police people say, imagining you’re with someone else is not cheating.

5. If you ever feel like cheating, consider how it would hurt your partner’s feelings. If that doesn’t work, remember John Bobbitt and rent Fatal Attraction.

6. Try to not to let yourself go. Monogamy is hard enough without your partner turning into Katherine Turner or Elvis.

7. Don’t take steroids.

8. Consider signing a contract that stipulates if you get caught cheating your partner will get all your money. Apparently it’s been working well for Michael Douglas.

9. Practice self-control and pray for a pill called Monongamex.

10. Always masturbate. You don’t throw the baby out with the bath water.

11. Try to delude yourself into thinking you’re somehow better than people who screw around.

12. If you find yourself bored and not attracted to your monogamous lover anymore, openly and sensitively communicate that fact. (Remember to wear protective gear.)

13. If sex is bad, seek sexual therapy. If sexual therapy doesn’t work, buy lots of ice and bubble wrap.

14. Try and get progressively kinkier with your monogamous lover, but time it so you don’t get too disgustingly kinky before you get too old to have sex. In other words, try to end your monogamous sex life before you turn your lover into a toilet.

15. Have tons of experimental sex before you get into your monogamous relationship. So, if you end up in a sexually dead monogamous relationship, at least you’ll have good memories.

16. Make sure you include intimacy in your monogamous sex life, but always be open sex toys, rubber gloves and heavy industrial machinery.

Well, there it is. I never promised any answers. My only hope is that monogamous couples and the culture will be honest about the challenges they face. Or, alternatively, we can continue down the path of lies and deceit, which might be the only realistic way to proceed at this point.

So, before I continue, I must preface this blog with an important point: There is no one way to succeed in show business! How else could you explain Kari Anne Peniche. So, here is a summary of the sincere advice I’ve given to people over the years.

The first thing I ask someone who wants advice is simple: What do you want to do? It’s amazing how many people don’t know. They often have vague notions of wanting to be in the business, but that’s about it. Knowing what you want can give you a focused in-point to break into the business. There are many, many jobs under the umbrella of show business: acting, hosting, writing, directing, editing, producing, Network executives, sound recording, camera directing (and operating), production designing, hair, makeup, agents, managers, casting, distribution, publicity, special effects, set-building, publicity, stunt-work, craft service, grips, gaffers, sound, animal wrangling, transport, lawyers, etc… My father once said that TV shows and movies couldn’t possibly need all those names you see on the end credits. I believed him until I got in the business. Making a movie or a TV show is truly collaborative. There are a ton of potential jobs. So, it’s good to know what you want, but knowing what you want isn’t a prison sentence. You can always change courses. I initially wanted to be a comedy writer, but being an on-camera jack ass man-child is what naturally evolved. And it didn’t come quickly. Just because you know what you want doesn’t mean you start out there.

Film school can be great because you get to make something. You also get the added pleasure of watching deliciously bad student productions. There’s nothing like watching a train-wreck student film. My favorites were the ubiquitous depictions of teen angst suicide and wonderfully botched attempts at making experimental art films. I made some God awful stuff in film school. One of my most disastrous student films was inspired by the Hare Krishna religion (no joke.) It starred my pal Bobby (he’s the guy whose pubic hair I ate and whose nipple I suckled for KVS humiliations) playing the King of Junk Food, who destroyed the planet with his bad gas. But you don’t have to go to film school to be successful. I’m a big believer in self-educating. Watching, reading, asking, volunteering and practicing are always good things you can do outside of film school. I volunteered at City TV cuing video tapes for Much Music. It was a good way to see things from the inside. It was also a good way to see all the pretty girls who worked there…for that alone, Moses deserves his genius status. If you want to make it you need to be hungry…and a little luck never hurt. You can’t be a dilettante. You have to be serious. Always be a student of your art, and don’t be too hip for the business part. Even someone like Paris Hilton works very hard to be Paris Hilton. Don’t let her image fool you. Being Paris Hilton is a full time job…and I respect that. But if you want to get paid and learn at the same time, a great place to start is as a production assistant (aka PA). That’s how I started when I graduated film school. I wanted to direct and write, but the real world put me where I probably belonged…at the bottom, getting coffee, picking up equipment, dropping off mail, driving producers, execs and talent, as well as doing both business and personal errands for the people I worked with. You’re first in, last out, and depending on who you work for, it can feel like a thankless job. Initially I was upset about being a PA, but soon realized that it was the best way to learn the business and develop relationships, which would hopefully pay-off later. In fact, I used to deliver mail to an executive who later became one of KVS’s executive producers. I didn’t make a lot of money as a PA, but I learned how production offices and sets are run. And most importantly one day I got to drive Nev Campbell home after an audition. Wow, was she ever cute. I get it, Cusack. I get it.

Much of the advice I give for show business success, for me, is common sense. You want to be a writer, write and read. And don’t just read the work of artists you admire, read their biographies and learn about how they approached the business. Both are important. There are lots of people who will give you advice. But unlike me, most will charge you for the privilege. There are countless how-to show business books out there. And for God sakes, and this is important, if you’re creative, always make something. It doesn’t have to be good. Making bad stuff is part of learning. Years ago Kenny and I shot a video with Bobby – he was our Devine. Back then, long before we ever were on TV, it was just the three of us running around Toronto shooting what was to become a feature length mock documentary titled “The Last Days of Toronto”. There was no pressure. Nothing was at stake. It was just fun. In retrospect, those early attempts at filmmaking gave me some of the best laughs and memories of my creative life. Somehow, no matter what, you have to make something. I was lucky because Kenny had old school video decks and he could shoot and edit. We used home video cameras and borrowed school equipment whenever we could. We asked friends and family for money…whatever it took. It was never a matter of if, it was always a matter of how. If you’re not serious or creative enough to figure out a way to make something independently, then maybe you shouldn’t be doing it…a little tough love there.

Selling is important to any business. You have to keep the shelves stacked, so to speak. Once you have something to sell, like a pitch for a show, or a script, you have to know who you’re selling it to…in other words, know the market. Learn what the Networks are buying. How? Read the trades, watch TV and watch movies. This may seem obvious, but most people that ask me for advice get a blank look when I ask them which Network would buy their idea. And know who you’re pitching. You don’t sell “Kenny Vs Spenny” to Disney. You don’t sell a movie-of-the-week called “Kathy Lee Gifford Story” to Spike. If you need an agent to get your work seen, get an agent. If you don’t know how to get an agent, ask someone who has an agent. If you can’t get an agent, keep trying, but never stop working. The more you work, the better you get. This ain’t rocket science, but it also ain’t easy. William Goldman famously wrote that no one knows what will sell. I believe it. Star Wars was rejected around Hollywood for years before it became a religion. Selling, unfortunately, is everything. Without it, how will people see your work?

Most of the advice-seekers who ask me for help are creative types; either they have a screenplay, or a vague idea for a television show, or movie. I always wonder what their motive is; money, fame, or a deep passion to tell a story? The first two are weak reasons to get into the creative side of show business. If you want to make money, become a producer…it will be a little easier. And that’s not put-down. Producers are very important. If it’s only fame that you’re after – and only you can judge that about yourself – my guess is that things probably won’t work out. The Internet and cable have made it easier for people to become famous. If fame is your goal, do something crazy and put it on Youtube…you might get lucky. But if you want a sustainable, long lasting career in show business, fame shouldn’t be your incentive…it should be about the work.

I see show business like any other business; the more you put into it, the more you get out of it. Like other businesses, it’s very competitive. Like other businesses, networking is important. Like other businesses, there’s no guarantee it will work out. There might literally be no business in show business. The main difference with most other businesses is the visibility if successful, and the myth that it somehow comes easy because you’re blessed with some elusive, magical talent. I’m not a big believer in talent. I realize it exists, but thank god the talented/gifted are not the only people who make it. Pavarotti and Shakespeare are talented, but sometimes I’d rather watch wrestling. (As an aside regarding talent; one thing I’ve consistently noticed is that so many of the creative innovators invariably had a parent, relative or sibling that exposed them to what eventually became their talent at a young age. It makes sense. If I was four years old and saw my Dad playing guitar a lot, it would, I think, to a certain extent, make the guitar less intimidating. That combined with a fierce work ethic, in my view, is what creates outstanding creativity. Sorry God.) I suppose you need some talent, but so much of the business is hard work, dedication and perseverance. I know many talented people who will never be successful in a business sense. The two are not mutually exclusive. And who you know can help too. I’ve had the benefit of knowing some great show business minds that have helped me get where I am. I admit that sometimes I’m not sure whether I should be grateful to them, or key their cars.

Passion is very important. Quick story. When I was in film school I took a course in documentary film. One day the Professor shows us Riefenstahl’s “Triumph of the Will”. Before he screened the film he told us that the first sequence, where Hitler flies into Nuremberg, wasn’t directed by Riefenstahl. Nazi promoting aside, it’s an amazing sequence. Hitler is arriving in Nuremberg in a plane. The shadow of the plane washes over the throngs of Nazi admirers, giving the impression that Hitler was a God dropping down from Heaven. It’s high art propaganda at its best. Anyway, we watched the long movie and afterwards I realized that I had left something back in the class room. I walked back to the room and found the Professor, alone. He had re-threaded the first reel and was watching the opening sequence again. I’ll never forget it. This man was passionate about what he did. Without real passion for what you do, stay home. Creativity, in my view, should be a compulsion. Even when I worked landscaping, or telemarketing jobs, I was always doing something creative in my spare time. If, or when, my career dies, or dips off, I know that whatever else I do, I will also be playing guitar or writing that novel that I’ve never been able to write. If you want to actually see the passion I’m talking about, watch the documentary “Anvil: The Anvil Story.” I’m not much for heavy metal, but these guys have passion.

Hunter Thompson once famously said that “show business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs.” There’s some controversy about what exactly Thompson was referring to, but if it was show business in the U.S., I think it’s a reasonable assessment. Thankfully, in Canada, it isn’t that harsh. One thing for sure, show business on any side of the border is not for the faint of heart. It seems like not a day goes by where someone doesn’t write something nasty about me. My favorite recent comment had someone calling me a “fucktard”. Years ago that kind of attack bothered me. These days I find it funny. Regardless, it helps to have a well-formed ego and thick skin. My advice might be obvious to some. I’m just trying to address questions that I get a lot. I certainly don’t have any magic answers. These are some of the things I’ve learned through the course of my career. But what do I know…I’m just a fucktard.

The obvious issue is that most lists are subjective; the worst dressed, the best restaurants, the best underarm rashes, etc… But, beyond the subjective issue, our obsession with lists, to me, makes life less fun.  Why?  If the “experts” in the media say that some such movie or restaurant is the best, then less people might check out other restaurants and movies that they might like better.  I fear that it’s a form of limiting choices. How many #1 blockbuster movies have I been sucked into only to leave saying, “fuck, the bastards burned me again!” And I still don’t understand the cocksucking Matrix!!!! Lists, to me, are essentially hype…and it’s a sophisticated hype.  I think media sophistication should be taught in public schools, and not just in some colleges and universities.  I meet people who don’t get that there’s bias of media. Some don’t even get that MSNBC leans left of Ed Begley Jr., or that FOX News leans right of Attila the Hun.  (I realize that most people who would actually read this ADD-laden blog of mine understand this stuff, which makes me wonder why I’m wasting my time writing it.) In any event, there’s no way around it; listing the best and worst is a tradition.  And a special shout-out to the Entertainment Tonight/Access Hollywood-like shows whose grotesque obsession with what’s hot and what’s not nauseates me to no end.  I usually can enjoy watching TV I despise, but those shows make me depressed.  Their slickness and high production value entice us into a mind-numbing submission.  Now I’m all into watching drivel on TV.  Jesus Christ, look at my show.  But these shows are pure evil. I’ve met Ben Mulroney on a few occasions and he’s a really cool guy. Ben, I beg you…stop the cheesy, entertainment magazine host thing.  You’re better than that.  You’re destroying your acting and political future by participating in super-superficial television that actually destroys the human soul.  Do you want to end up like Pat O’Brien, hiding at parties talking dirty into a cell phones?  Actually that doesn’t sound too bad. I’m praying for you, Ben.

Art, more than anything, except maybe spirituality, is something that shouldn’t be rated on a list.  For example, “Two and Half Men” consistently rates number one among sitcoms on US Networks, but personally I’d rather watch Judge Judy remind me why I don’t date Jewish women.  But that’s me.  So, the most popular sitcom is actually, for me, the worst sitcom.  My occupation (if you can seriously call it that) depends on ratings.  In fact, my ability to negotiate financially depends on ratings.  The problem with the ratings (Nielson ratings) is that I think they’ve become irrelevant because of DVR’s, DVD’s  and the Internet.  (I haven’t done any serious research on this, so I apologize to the Nielsons if I’m wrong and you’re actually relevant.)   That said, I fear my earning power may be based on a false system.  How come I don’t know one single person with a Neilson box?  Is it a secret society like the Free Masons?  Do you have to have the last name Nielson?  I’m not comfortable with any of it.  I walk around the city and I know more people watch KVS than what the ratings say, which thank God are good.  But, I’m almost certain they didn’t count my Uncle Julie, who watched the show last Friday to see what an ass his nephew is making of himself on television.  Here’s a worst list for you:  The Worst TV Rating system: Nielson.

Sometimes lists make perfect sense.  There’s no point to sports if there’s no scores or standings.  And, of course, we need beauty pageants; where would we be without national representatives who look good in bathing suits? And, unfortunately, we need to rank our political leaders — that’s called democracy, and until I see something better than elections to choose our leaders, I’m okay with it.   Even though, in my opinion, the electorate’s choices can be totally renarded (that’s not a typo…it’s a nicer way of saying totally fucking retarded!!!) But who doesn’t agree with the majority?   Personally, I always liked the idea of a benevolent despot.  I think if Dr. Drew grew a pair and kicked -out Kari Ann, he’d make a good benevolent despot.  We also, unfortunately again, need winners and losers in the justice system.  There has to be consequences….though not always just ones.

Orson Wells made a wonderfully bizarre documentary called “F for Fake”.  It’s great.  There’s a lot going on in it, but I love the part about experts in the art world.   Who decides what painting should hang where and be worth what? And who makes that person worthy of such an honor?  The truth is that experts don’t really matter…we make them important by listening to them.  Experts are essentially useless, except of course for MacLean’s Magazine which rated Kenny Vs Spenny one of the top ten Canadian shows of the decade!!!

Paddy,
Well, I think the honeymoon is finally wearing off as far as LA is concerned.  I’m bored.  It’s lonely.  I think that’s why it’s easy to get laid here. People will fuck anything if they’re lonely enough.  Well, maybe if we get a series the next level of show biz pretension will make me shallow enough to sleep better.  I must say that it’s especially depressing researching Chomsky for that character in my screenplay while living in LA trying to make it show business.  It’s like reading Bukowski if you’re in AA.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy here.  It’s just that the longer I stay, the more people I meet whose hearts and dreams are teetering on implosion; reminding me that there for the grace of God go I, and God ain’t that graceful in Tinseltown.  Even tonight, a Dutch girl named Katya came over.  She’s attractive, with an accent, but in Darwinian LA terms, she’s past her prime.  She wants to be an actress.  She’s been here three years (illegally) and just finished a how-to-make-it-in-Hollywood course at USC.  Next week she says she’s going to make 200 phone calls, trying to get meetings.  I wanted to cry for her.  Katya recited some of her poetry for me.  It was good, but that somehow only makes it worse.  She’s just too pure for this place.  Or another guy, Bob, a brilliant comic — three years ago he appeared on the Future Comedy Stars episode of Oprah, and nowadays is doing stand-up for free at a pub in Santa Monica with novices like me.  Or Fern, still hosting at a restaurant, all but given up on her acting dream…and she’s good.  Underneath the beauty of the beach, the mountains, the sun, the women…this town is ugly.  Suck em up and spew em out.  LA’s like heroin.  It’s the best thing in the world until you realize you need it to get out of bed in the morning. Living in Venice has been disturbing.  Tension.  Mistrust. The police are everywhere. The other night I was drunk on my bicycle with no lights and a quarter ounce of weed in my sweat pants.  I got pulled over.  I was so petrified that I nervously farted as I was being frisked.  It stunk bad. The cop screamed, “Did you shit your pants, son?” I told him I did and apologized like a good Canadian.  Luckily, he didn’t find the weed.    Imagine if I got caught and deported.  It might have been the defining moment of my adult life.  The cops are everywhere in Venice  Even if I’m standing outside my place, they’ll stop and check me out.  I can only imagine what the blacks go through.  I’m getting so paranoid.  And I’m starting to dream about the kinds of things that Kenny will do to sabotage me in the pilot.   Kenny thinks there are no rules, which is a definite disadvantage for me.  There’s a gag order on us talking to each other about what we’re going to do in the pilot. I only hear the stuff they won’t let him do. Apparently, he wanted to somehow give me cholera. Nice. It’s the final countdown and I want to go on record that I will try with every ounce of my tension-soakedf body to win.  The loser has to go to movie line-up and give away the ending of the movie.  I really don’t want to have to do that.  I could get shot. I suggested that the loser should stand on a chair with a boom box and rap without stopping for an hour.  USA Network preferred the movie line stunt without any justification.  Welcome to the wonderful world of dealing with US executives.  My latest battle with Abby is over the length of my hair.  She wants me to cut it short before we go to camera because she says I look younger.  I’ve been growing it out, and prefer it longer.  When I told her I refused to cut it short she said — like the mother I never had — “I’m going to put my foot down and call the Network over this.”  (I say the mother I never had only because my mother never put her foot down… in recent years, literally!) Beyond my hair, I’m also concerned about my face ballooning from salt intake as I eat my way through the competition.  I’m worried that in my television debut that my face will be retaining more water than the Hoover Dam.  One day I’ll look back at all of this and laugh…or cry. Too late.

I have two main sports heroes: Wayne Gretzky and Tiger Woods. Like Nike, I will be sticking by Tiger through this difficult time. He is, to me, an athlete…an incredible athlete. The fact that he happens to also be a role model is a separate issue. I look to Tiger for stellar golf, not monogamy. It’s not like he’s Jimmy Swaggart or Jim Baker. Those hypocritical, prosthelytizing cry babies truly deserved their fate. I never saw Tiger in a pulpit. I know that Tiger has said in interviews that since he got married his family is his first priority, but to my knowledge he never pushed that ethos on anyone else.

I, of course, don’t condone his behavior, but his public humiliation is severe…and I’m no stranger to humiliation. Dealing with this kind of thing privately is hard enough. Dealing with it on the world stage has to be brutal. CNN has been having Tiger penis panels lately. I wonder how many of those judgmental pundits have cheated themselves, but just never got caught. Deserved, or not, it’s a horrendous pile-on. I know that some women will disagree with any sympathy towards Tiger, and would like to tee-up one of his testicles. I understand. Not even Mark Geragos could justify the scope Tiger’s philandering. Unlike his low golf scores, his cheating score is high. But my sympathy is only partially gender biased. I try very hard in life not to be judgmental. I simply feel for sorry for him. I also feel sorry for his wife, though for me, models are generally not sympathetic.

I wrote a couple of weeks ago about tabloid journalism on my blog. I still believe that if you’re famous and get caught you’re going to have to pay the piper. It’s the chance you take being a superstar in the age of instant communication and ubiquitous meanness. I wonder how many pro golfers, who must be jealous of Tiger, or even downright hate him for his dominance, are reacting. Some probably secretly love it, while others are keeping quiet hoping their mistresses don’t jump on the dirty-laundry-for-cash-bandwagon. My hope is that most of his peers want him to somehow work through this and get back on the golf course, so that they (and we) can legitimately know who the greatest golfer is. I hope his departure from golf is short…and I’m sure so does the PGA. Without him, golf is in trouble. I love golf. I have argued on many occasions that pro golfers are incredible athletes, and that golf is the most difficult game to play consistently at a professional level. I suck at golf. If I play 18 holes and get two pars, I’m ecstatic. Tiger’s accomplishments in the game are super-human. As much I love Jack, I think Tiger will eventually obliterate his incredible records. It will be interesting to see how this debacle affects Tiger’s performance. My gut tells me that he’ll get through it, just like he gets through so many of the hurdles that the greatest golf courses in the world throw at him. I believe his tremendous discipline and focus will win out. Right or wrong, I’m rooting for him.

I admit that the ever-growing list of women who Tiger allegedly tapped is troubling. The sheer volume is intimidating. Tiger is making Mick Jagger look like a eunuch. Depending on how Tiger treated these women, it’s hard not to judge them…but I’ll try. We have to assume they all knew he was married. So, one cashed in and the others, like greedy lemmings, went public too. This deserves condemnation. It’s a sad world when you can’t trust star-fucking skanks. I suppose karma believers feel vindicated over this story.

I’m a person who believes in forgiveness and second chances. I also feel that monogamy in our culture is problematic. It’s the big horny gorilla in the room that no one wants to talk about. It’s not that I’m against monogamy; I think it’s the ideal, but one can’t avoid the statistics. So far I’ve only heard one pundit with regard to Tiger mention the monogamy issue in any complex, intelligent way. Perhaps the scope of his transgressions makes it impossible to spring board into discussing the issues surrounding monogamy in any meaningful way. I have no answers, and I’m certainly not endorsing open relationships, but I think there needs to be frank discussions about monogamy like there is with drugs, STD’s and Lindsay Lohan’s pubic hair.

We all know that Tiger is not the first man to cheat on his wife multiple times. He just got caught. Making it worse, golf is a gentleman’s game and he is the most famous athlete on the planet. If it seems like I have minimal condemnation for Tiger, I guess that’s true. If he was a murderer, a rapist, or Tonya Harding, that would be different. So far, to my knowledge, Tiger has done none of those things. I don’t love Tiger for how he conducts his life off the golf course…I love him for how he hits little white balls into slightly larger holes, on grass, outside.

Asperger Syndrome is either a syndrome or a disorder – they haven’t decided.  I hope syndrome wins-out.  I’d rather people thought I had a syndrome  than a disorder.   It sounds nicer.  (Holy shit. I’m turning into Andy Rooney.)

Asperger’s is found within the spectrum of autism — autism light, if you will.    I have an autistic cousin, so that might be meaningful.  Yikes.  Apparently Asperger is characterized by abnormalities of social interaction and communication that pervade the individuals functioning, and by repetitive interests and behavior. Jesus Christ! My picture could be beside that description. I think I have to go lay own.

Okay. I’m not panicking yet.  I was once diagnosed with genital herpes, but it turned out to be a flea bite I scratched so hard that it scabbed-up.  My hope is that not all psychological diagnoses’ on Facebook are correct.   Thank God it wasn’t on MySpace.

I’ll admit that some of my social interactions are not normal.   Sometimes I hide under tables to avoid social interaction.  Since I’ve become a celebrity I often walk down the street pretending to be on an important phone call to avoid social interactions.  I also have trouble communicating sometimes…especially if that communication requires any form of conflict.  I’m someone that gets into an argument and all my best points come to me the next day when the argument is long over.   That might not be a communication issue, but it bugs the shit out of me.  And then there are the repetitive interests and behaviors.  I think I need to go lay down again.   I have a few of those to say the least.  If masturbation counts I might as well check myself into a clinic right now.  I believe I masturbate a healthy amount…okay, a very healthy amount.   I also have a few ticks, and stay up late watching infomercials I’ve seen dozens of times.

Good news! It turns out that a lot people with AS are really good in math.  I’m terrible at math.  I hate math.  I always failed math in school.  I think I’ve been misdiagnosed.    And I just checked my Facebook account and somebody called me a “loser fuckwad.”  Phew. Things are finally back to normal.

I have, in the past, at least initially, resisted every new form of technology. Almost everyone I knew had answering machines and cell phones before I did. Even the metric system pisses me off. I love my Blackberry, but I must admit that it has taken over my life to a degree that I find troubling. Ironically, it’s the same manager who pushed Facebook on me that privately fantasizes about a time long since past where the telegram was all you had to account for yourself:

I’m off to Europe (stop). Be back in 2 weeks (stop).

Love Spenny

Those were the days, my friends. I get horny just thinking about it.

Beyond my issues with technology, I don’t possess a personality that lends itself to the Facebook culture. I’m shy and socially awkward If it wasn’t for vodka, I don’t think I’d ever leave the house. I’m also very paranoid. As previously mentioned, my three day stint on Facebook put me in touch with a woman claiming to be a former lover who I’m fairly certain I’ve never heard of. A one night stand, maybe…but a relationship? –that would be one hell of a black-out. That kind of mind-fucking only fuels my already high-octane paranoia. My life has plenty of drama without adding fictitious Facebook delusions. I also started to worry about past sins coming back to haunt me…I break-out in a rash just thinking about it. And on top of all that, there would be the inevitable onslaught of the homophobic, hate-speechin’ Spenny-detractors, who I generally find amusing, but combined with the phantom relationships and who knows what other insanity, could wind up with me drooling in a psyche ward asking for my blanky.

I’m being very careful not to slam social networking sites because like the space shuttle, I think they’re very cool, but that doesn’t mean I want to ride on one. That said, I’m a professional, and will try to do what’s right for my career, if not my fragile mental health.

Oh yeah, while I’m whining, another thing that bugs me is that Facebook only allows for a tiny amount of text, which unless you’re Oscar Wilde, tends to limit profundity. So, if anyone is interested in more than self-centered blurbs, you’ll have to come to my website and read this blog. Alternatively, I will be on Facebook trying to fit into the Internet phenomenon I’ve been trying to avoid for years.