Wendie Malick is the poor man's Sela Ward

Voiceovers. Who knew? These women did. Their smoky, sultry tones are in plenty of commercials.



Just took a look at our bank account. After our little vacation, I am truly a poor man now.



FINALLY: My 5-minute TV show is in. The screening is tonight. If you're in NYC and have nothing to do at 8pm, come watch the shows and vote for mine. It's called "Cover Me," and will be up here in it's full 4:58 glory soon. Until then, cruise on over to Channel 102 for details.

Portland is the poor man's Seattle...no wait! Strike that. Reverse it.

We're back from vacation. And you know what that means.

Vacation pictures.

While I'm still digesting the 200 lbs of seafood I ate over the last seven days (most of which in one sitting), lemme entertain you with some shots from our trip, and some advice on places to go/people to see.

Here is beautiful Mt. Hood as seen from downtown Portland. This day was the most beautiful of our trip.

Note: the absence of rain all over the fucking place.

I used to live here more than 10 years ago. A lot has changed. I don't know if it's all these years of NYC living, but I get a real sense of Stepford-in-flannel here. Everyone's so freakin' nice, it's unnerving. It's kind of like Amsterdam (stay with me here). It's such an organized, neat city, but there's this vibe that if you mess with this Utopia in any way, step out of bounds, the locals will poke straws through your eyes and suck your brains out. It's a creepy I can't quite put my finger on. Something born of a community of über-sensitive liberals, not the rational liberals. (sort of like how there are rational conservatives [I've been told] and über-slimy conservatives). A creepy I was once part of. A creepy that can only be described as made in Oregon.

And they need to stop hiding their fucking stops signs behind trees. No wonder insurance was twice the car rental.

This is Portland's hardcore graffiti. Underneath the Hawthorne Bridge.


Last Friday it was the Poor Woman's birthday. Some friends of ours took us to The Herb Farm for the finest meal I ever had in my life. A nine-course orgy of the greatest excuse for eco-sustainable living I've ever heard of. I cannot explain clearly enough that each and every one of you must go to this place before you die. Actually, I ate so much I thought I was going to die. I wasn't drunk on the fantastic wine they served with each course, rather the sheer power of my own gluttony and refusal to believe I couldn't shove another bite of salmon in my mouth. This is all part of the Poor Woman's new focus - sustainable foods and ethical food practices. Basically, eveything fast food isn't. It's definitely worth looking into turning more of your meals into an event like this. Granted, this dinner was 4 1/2 hours long. Not everyone has 4 1/2 hours to consume nine courses that make sweet love to your stomach, but give it a try.

She's enjoying a sorbet & jello concoction that was made that night from the herb garden outside the restaurant.


This was the 2nd best meal in my life.

Butter. Golden, fluffy pancakes. Chorizo & eggs. Hash browns. Butter. No herb garden to be found.


A long time ago I quit acting. I wanted to be a forest firefighter. Still do. I applied to the forest service as a "hotshot" twice and got rejected each time. Now, I've met a few of these fine men and women, and the only reason I can think of that I was not accepted was because my liver wasn't damaged by enough booze. My wife, who doubles her weight soaking wet, can drink me (and all of you) under the table. She'd have made an excellent member of the crew. Anyway, here I am in a computer simulation, smokejumping.

God, I'm such a douche. A sober douche. A sober, gluttonous douche.

In cheap sneakers.

(Let me clarify - smokejumpers/hotshots aren't drunks when they're on the job. I've known a few of them, and have heard their stories of the work they have to do. I'm just saying when their shift is over, don't offend these guys by offering them anything with less than 70% alcohol by volume. They've earned it.)


Lastly, there is a picture of me mooning the Poor Woman. It's a brilliant picture. I decided not to post it. Not because of the embarrassment of seeing my butt in a public forum, but because for the first time, I got a good look at the back of my head, and I was not happy with the "more skin/less hair" memo my scalp was sending.


So in conclusion...
Mt. Rainier is the poor man's Mt. Hood. It just is.
While Seattle does have The Herb Farm, it doesn't have Tony Starlight (he performs Saturday nights) or McMenamins movie houses (cheap movies with beer, food and couches), and therefore is the poor man's Portland.

Karen Black is the poor man's Sally Kirkland

The TV show is done. Just looking over some odds and ends tomorrow with my co-producer, then it gets submitted. We'll find out if we're in late next week.

Until then, the Poor Woman and I are going to the Pacific NW for her birthday. It's the best time of year to escape the rainy, post-Nor'easter blues of NYC, because April is the sunniest month of all in Seattle & Portland.

She couldn't have been born in July?

We leave Thursday, return the following Wednesday. I'll try to get a post up before then, but it may not happen until next week.

I haven't been back up there since I last visited in 2000, but I'm looking forward to seeing old friends/haunts. Also: Better coffee for the Poor Woman, better beer for me.

Friends who dress alike, part 2.

One of the first pictures taken with my new camera phone. It's been a long time since we did the friends thing.


Last couple of days had me doing a promo shoot. First thing I booked in a while, so I was happy to get the work, but not so happy with the waiting around part. The first day was good. Yesterday was bad. Up at 4:30am to get to the location by 7. Shoot my first scene at 8(ish). Break at 10. Wait until 4:30pm, shoot 2nd scene outside.

It was cold outside.

Then we barely survived a passenger van ride, driven by a PA who should be allowed nowhere near an automobile for any reason.

The Poor Woman bought me a mini DVD player last year for my birthday. Instead of doing something smart (like bringing it) I brought a book instead. Good book, but the act of reading more than one page was killing my sleep-deprived body. I'd have much rather watched 6+ hours of South Park or something.

Which leads me to the band I used to be in. I listened to some of our old recordings, and while the usual places still make me cringe (why did I sing that??? Why did I riff there???) I felt something I hadn't felt since I quit. I missed it.

I miss being in a band. I advise everyone to be a rock star for at least once in their lives. Whether you sell out Madison Square Garden, play on a Halloween float or just get a few friends to hear you at a small club with flooded bathrooms, it's worth doing at least once.

Posts are few and far between.

I've been holed up working on a pilot for Channel 102.

Basically, you present a five-minute TV show to an audience. Each month this audience views ten of these shows and then votes for their top five. Those five winners are "renewed" and go on to make another episode to be presented at next month's screening alongside five new pilots.

Instant Neilsens!

Well, I've been bitching aplenty about how I could do that, and better. So I finally did something about it.

It's harder than I thought. But, it's also loads of fun.

Writing a complete, coherent, funny (hopefully), compelling story in under five minutes is harder than you might imagine. Or maybe not, and my ideas are just a little too big for such time constraints. Regardless, it's a GREAT exercise in learning how to be concise.

We shot a ton of footage. I've got it under five minutes now. I'm working on the sound edit, a special glowing effect and the color correction. Three things in which I have absolutely no training whatsoever.

How can this fail?

Here's something to whet the whistle. The following is the infomercial our hapless hero is watching at the beginning of the program. A good chunk of it had to be cut (sorry Bill), but you still get the point.

The mom from Karate Kid is the poor man's mom from Big

More construction in the backyard. Six days a week we wake up at 7am. While I'm not a kid anymore, I am too young to be waking up that early all the time.

Christopher Rich is the poor man's David Rasche

Seriously people...this editing thing is killing me. To boot, I know nothing about sound editing.