You’d drive to the guard gate, who never had your name, turn around and park on the street, walk back to the guard gate who still didn’t have your name, show him your audition sides and 8×10. He’d ask you if you’d done anything substantial since Summer School and then, after muttering a half-assed explanation about a writers strike sinking everything, he’d let you in. You’d sign in, wait for at least an hour because waiting around is good for people who are in their heads a lot, then, immediately after bumping into the ex girlfriend who broke you, they’d call your name and you’d go tank your audition. Ask anyone. Same experience for everyone. EVERYONE!

The WB Casting Mall looked sort of like a medical waiting room, only a bit larger… a couple benches, maybe 20 seats,  which were filled with people talking to themselves… practicing how they were going to say their lines or trying to nail that hilarious joke, etc. Right off the waiting area were the mens & women’s restrooms. Sometimes, actors would go into the restroom to “rehearse.” Everyone in the waiting room could hear them and sort of compare the audition they had in their head to the poor sap in the bathroom trying to nail that hilarious joke, etc. 

After a year or so of the WB Casting Mall, I came up with an idea: I’d enter the bathroom and then allowing enough time for me to ostensibly get to the urinal and begin doing what one does at the urinal, I would scream “OH SHIT, IT BURNS. IT BURNS SO FUCKING BAD!! GOD DAMN IT BURNS. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!” Then… I’d flush the urinal, mutter, loudly enough for people in the waiting room to still hear me, “…another week of this and I go to the damned doctor… ” and exit the bathroom as if nothing happened. The waiting room would get very, very quiet and very uncomfortable. Of course, if Stuart Fratkin was there, he’d be laughing softly to himself.

If only I had been at least half as funny in any of the auditions. Ah well.

It gets very cool.

After the great career crash of ’95, I ended up in Las Vegas, summer ’96, working as a singing wizard in a dinner show, literally singing “try the veal.” No, really. Caesars Magical Empire. Humbling, horrible and wildly fun. It turned out to one be the best things that ever happened to me. (Well, booking the role of Chandler on Friends or Lewis on the Drew Carey Show might’ve been better. The jury’s still out.)

I became close friends with Penn Jillette, ended up living in a spare bedroom at his amazing home, the The Slammer, and met and fell in with an eclectic group of wonderful and fascinating people. Colin Summers, who designed the The Slammer is still a close friend.

Another of these folks was Rob Pike. Rob Pike had been on the team that developed Unix and engineered some other software that made the internet work for us mortals. 

He had co-authored a great book about programming cleverly titled The Practice of Programming. At the time, he was working at Bell Labs doing stuff I didn’t understand. Now, he’s at The Google and travels around the world with his bride, an astonishing artist, Renee French.

So… over dinner I mention the fun I had in the bathroom at the Casting Mall. It was also fun to be at any urinal at all and, while doing what one does at a urinal, softly mutter “ow ow ow… oh man it burns… damn it.” Rob thought this to be super funny (mainly because it is) and upon returning to Bell Labs, began doing the same thing whenever he was at a urinal at Bell Labs. 

It caught on and escalated as these things do. 

To sum it up: For a bright, shining moment in the late 90’s, walking down a hallway at Bell Labs, one would often hear the echoes of men screaming about molten fire-urine from the restrooms. 

I did that.

When CBS & Universal announced that they were going to make a TV Series of Fast Times at Ridgemont High, everyone “in town” were thinking “who is the poor sap who’s going to take on Jeff Spicoli.” 

I was that sap. (I’d successfully crashed the Fast Times movie auditions by driving my roommate to his callback and ended up auditioning for Damone in the movie. I’m still waiting to hear if I got the part.) I had been roommates with both of Spicoli’s ‘surfer buds’ during the hard times and, as stated previously, was roommates with one of them during the Fast Times at Ridgemont High film shoot. I was on set in Van Nuys when they shot the iconic scene of Spicoli and his buds tumbling out of the smoke filled VW van. 

Doing Spicoli on TV put me on the map in Showbiz, but it was a lot of pressure, but that’s what we do, right? I managed to pull it off with a minimum of hate. I also got to work with the Courtney Thorne-Smith, Claudia Wells, Patrick “McDreamy” Dempsey, Wally “Wallace Langham” Ward, another Santa Barbara friend, Bill “William” Calvert, Kit McDonough and James “James” Nardini. They convinced Vincent Schiavelli and the amazing Ray Walston to do the series, too. Plus, Amy Heckerling directed many of the episodes and was directly involved with the production. Cameron Crowe was around for a bit, as well. I knew him from a Sunday Night Bowling I used to do with a bunch of friends. 

Ray Walston was crotchety but super cool to work with. Funny. Charming. All that good stuff, but, similar to Mr. Hand, he didn’t take any shit. Back in the old days they used huge, bright lights to light sets and Walston had completely opaque sunglasses that he’d rehearse in because the lights bothered him. Brilliant. 

We got picked up for 7 episodes after three days of dailies. Pretty cool. When networks released new shows, press from all over the country would convene in NYC for a week and the networks would send the “stars” of the show and other notable people associated with the production to New York to pimp the shows to the press. You’d sit in a conference room for 5 hours and they’d rotate in 10 journalists for 15 minutes to ask the same questions. “Were you intimidated to fill such big shoes?” I think they do the bulk of these by satellite now. It saves money and time. CBS sent Claudia Wells, Amy Heckerling, Producer Alan Rucker, Me and Ray Walston. 

During the press stuff I learned why Walston wanted to do the TV show. Referring to his turn as the title role in “My Favorite Martian,” Walston said “I WANT TO BURY THAT MARTIAN AND THOSE FUCKING ANTENNA FOREVER.” He was awesome.

And here’s where it gets really cool. As well as the point of this missive.
Back in the old days, the network or studio would purchase a round trip First Class ticket in the name of the person who was flying. So, I had a First Class plane ticket. Lots of actors would then call the airline and swap the first class ticket for a coach seat and pocket the difference. Often a couple grand. It was a pretty good way to pick up a couple grand. TV salaries were good then – certainly better than parking cars, bar backing or ushering at the Chinese Theater,  but not like they are now, so it made sense for some.  My actor friends were telling me to do it, but I’d never flown First Class. Plus, I was worried about getting caught. 

Cut to: I’m sitting in First Class packed with CBS TV stars heading to NYC to pimp their shows. Lanie Kazan, Robby Benson and other people I had only seen in movies and TV and me, feeling super duper out of place. There was a “civilian” guy sitting next to me. Ray Walston walks into the cabin. The stewardess takes a look at his ticket. Looks around at all the famous and soon to be almost famous people and says “Mister Walston, there must be some mistake. Hold on.” He looks a bit worried, but does as they ask. The stewardess taps the guy sitting next to me and, sweetly kicks him out of First Class and into Coach. Obviously, the airline would reimburse him. He was pretty cool about it. 

With much apology and fanfare, they sit Ray Walston next to me. “Would you like a cocktail, Mister Walston. We are sooooo sorry about the mix-up.” He declines. Eyes forward. Silent. The stewardess leaves and Ray Walston turns to me and says “Christ… I can’t believe they kicked that guy out of his seat. I cashed my First Class ticket in for a coach ticket. I feel horrible!”

We had a nice flight to New York. This is a bit sketchy in my memory but…  Ray Walston told me a story about getting drunk and telling the head of the studio that Paint Your Wagon was a horrible piece of shit, staggering home and leaning out of a window of his apartment screaming to the world that his career was over. (It wasn’t, obviously) 

“Never tell them the truth, Dean.”

We miss you, Ray Walson!

Also… Paint Your Wagon is a piece of shit movie. The musical isn’t even that good.

Thanks to the magical wonder of divorce, I’d spent summers with my dad in Santa Barbara and the rest of the year with my mom in…. um… wherever we were living at the time. The “formative years” were spent in Norman, Oklahoma. I do not mean this to be condescending when I say it is a great place to be from. I have great friends from there. Boy Scouts, the continuity of the same kids from 4th to 12th grade. We were fortunate that we went from super poor to upper middle class and I had as fine high school experience as one could probably expect.

Santa Barbara had a tremendous summer theater program called Youth Theater. I started doing plays there when I was 11. The first one was a Pro-Am production of Our Town. John Ritter as George, Sian Barbara Allen as Emily. The Stage Manager played by Woody Chamblis whose big claim to fame was playing Sgt. Pepper in the dreadful movie. This production is where I became friends with Tony Edwards, Eric Stoltz and a legion of other folks who have all had varying degrees of success in the showbiz.

We all ended up in a production of “Oliver” years later and became fast friends and, while I was in high school, a manager (insert intense controversy here) began representing them – and Tony, Eric, Mike Sharrett, Kathleen Wilhoite and our other buddy, Scott Drnavich had acquired agents and were getting work in commercials and T.V. shows. I figured “if they can do it, so can I” so I decided that after a summer of sex and beer, I would head to L.A. to seek my fortune.

I moved to Los Angeles early September, 1980 when I was 17. The plan was that Eric, Tony, Scotty and I would rent a house that Dee Jacoby owned. (The Jacoby kids were on every T.V. show in the 70’s.) It was supposed to be ready for us mid-September, but after two months of all of us living in a one bedroom apartment across the street from USC where Tony & Eric were going to school, we realized that the house would not happen. Scott and I ended up in a two bedroom slum by Macarthur Park. That evolved to a roach infested penthouse near Olympic and Vermont. Then, Eric and girl he went to USC with named Ally Sheedy and I ended up escaping and renting a three bedroom house in Van Nuys.

Oh, and my car and everything I owned was stolen after the first month here. But that’s a whole other thing…

There are three-plus years of intense struggle involving lots of mac & cheese, jobs at Shakey’s, The Chinese Theater, parking cars and a bar called Ports. But today, we will fast forward to:

1984. NOT THE NOVEL. NOT THE ALBUM. ME. ME. ME.

Nights & weekends, I was parking cars for Executive Parking at Bundy & Wilshire. My supervisor was younger than me and his other job was to let me know that I would never make it as an actor. Nice guy. I had begun taking acting super seriously (maybe too seriously) and was studying at The Loft Studio. Kathleen Wilhoite and I were roommates in an apartment at 4433 Murietta in Sherman Oaks. We paid a whopping $200/each for rent. I’d left my gig as Floor Captain at the Chinese Theater where I was pulling in $3.65/hr for the car parking gig where I made 3.75/hr PLUS at least $5 in tips a night. The super cool thing that Bill & Peggy did at The Loft was let me take class for free. Very cool.

I had gotten an agent after my first year. Here’s how: I sent my picture and a letter, listing all the musicals I’d done in Santa Barbara and Norman to 50 agents. I received two replies – a crookedly mimeographed “thank you but get lost” letter from Abrams/Rubaloff (now Abrams? Or are they done?) and a call from a lady named Booh Schut at Sutton Barth & Vennari. Eric called them Sudden Birth & Abortion. I called them Sutton Barth and Ignore Me. “Would you send me up on comedies?” “We don’t think you’re funny.” I had gotten my SAG card and had done a couple speaking roles on T.V. shows. As it is now, Eric had championed me for gigs and was responsible for me landing my first speaking role on a show that ended up being called The Best Times.

Even though they didn’t think I was funny, I was a lucky one who had an agent and would go on auditions. It was a good time to be a young actor. There was lots of work.

THE POINT

Before you were born, the networks would do things called TV Movies. They would get the stars from their hit shows to do some sort of comedy or melodrama. Lifetime has continued that model with great success. In 1983, NBC did a T.V. Movie called Highschool U.S.A.

It was, ostensibly, a comedy that featured the young stars who were on the hit T.V. shows at the time: Michael J. Fox, Nancy McKeon, Todd Bridges, Dana Plato.  Their parents and principals were played by T.V. stars of “yesteryear.” Bob Denver, Tony Dow, Dawn Wells, Jerry Mathers, David & Rick Nelson, Barbara Billingsley, Ken Osmond, Dick York, Burt Ward, etc. Genius, right? There were two characters, Archie & Chuckie who were played by actors who weren’t stars of NBC shows. Archie and Chuckie were the current staple of teen comedies – duo. One was “fat” and the other was “weird.” Hilarity ensues. Archie was played by Crispin Glover. Chuckie was played by Michael Zorek.

I knew Michael through Kathleen and her buddy Kari Lizer (she runs most of showbiz now) as they had done a movie that, were it released now, the theaters would be burnt to the ground and everyone responsible would be publicly beheaded. I knew of Crispin and had met him a couple times as he and Nic Cage would pop into The Loft from time to time. Crispin had done a scene from a German Expressionist playwright in class that, as you can imagine, baffled everyone – including Peggy.  He and Nic Cage also had a song they would sing: “Bill’s got… (clap clap) Peggy’s got… (clap clap) eyes: sunk!” Nic also had a friend, Johnny, who played guitar and wanted to be an actor, who would pop in from time to time who ended up doing fairly well. I’d seen and admired Crispin in a movie, “My Tutor”, that, again, would end in riots now. Crispin was obviously doing his own thing and between the German Expressionism and his performance in “My Tutor” I realized that he was not only in his own league, but was creating his own amazing league.

So.. yeah.

Because Highschool U.S.A. had every hot young T.V. star in it and the old timers, it was a huge hit. Duh. What a surprise, right? The geniuses at NBC thought “We’ve got a hit!!! Hey! Let’s make a TV Pilot! ” And, because it starred people who already had T.V. series’, they had to recast all of the young lead roles.

Don’t tell anyone, but the standouts of the piece were Archie & Chuckie. No one had seen a performance like Crispin’s. I mean it. Astonishing. Weird, funny, inventive. Crispin!

YET ANOTHER DAMNED TANGENT

Back before you were born there was a HUGE difference between Television & Movies. The goal was to stay away from T.V. and just do movies. T.V. was the realm of hacks and losers and no one who was successful on T.V. ever, ever, ever, ever ended up doing good movies. Yup. It’s changed. T.V. is amazing and most movies suck. Trust me, it used to be different. For example, when I was at William Morris, I had a T.V. agent and a Feature Film agent.

MY NUTTY THEORY

Televisions used to be much smaller. Maybe the screen was 20” – maybe. “Happy Days” came on and Fonzie would be a guest in your home once a week. AND: he was tiny. Get it? Henry Winkler was this little toy who you’d watch in your underwear and he made you laugh. On the other hand, you put on clothes, left the house and paid money to sit in a dark room with a bunch of other strangers to watch a gigantic, fifty foot tall Robert DeNiro. The lizard brain kept those two things separate. Once your buddy, Henry Winkler is Fonzie, Henry Winkler is Fonzie. And, thanks to re-runs, he’s Fonzie forever. Cute, cuddly little Fonzie. Awww. No movies for you. Television. The end.

I think Crispin understood this and had no interest in being on television. Again, there was a feeding frenzy on young actors for movies at the time. The downside is that most of the movies that featured young people that were being made were stupid.

But… I digress….

THE TALK WITH MY DAD

I’d been in L.A. almost four years now. Each and every one of my roommates had film careers. Ally Sheedy had done War Games & Bad Boys. Tony and Eric had done Fast Times. They were all making a living as actors. I was still struggling – parking cars. I got a call from my dad in March of ’84. “I will pay for college if you want to go this fall.” I knew that something was going to break soon. I could feel it. I don’t think I was delusional about that. I may have been delusional about being able to sustain a career throughout my life, but I knew that it was only a matter of time. Before I moved to L.A. my manager (insert controversy here) told me “Tenacity is the key.” I told my dad that if nothing happened by the end of the year, I’d take him up on his offer. Who can blame him?

ARCHIE IS AVAILABLE

At this point, my ultimately controversial manager had split and partnered with Helen Sugland, who also represented Eric and some other folks I won’t bore you with. I had left Sudden Birth & Abortion and had signed with an amazing woman named Vivian Levy who was starting a “young people’s department” at a commercial agency. I will maintain that it does not matter what agency you are with. You only need an agent who wakes up asking themselves what they can do for you that day. That was Vivian. She had my headshot framed next to her desk. No other clients. (Cut to: Vivian Levy changing the headshots next to her desk as the secretary announces a client visit.) Vivian spearheaded a move to change “my look.” Paying for a haircut at a fancy salon. Buying me clothes that didn’t suck. Getting my eyebrows under control… Vivian ruled. She got me an audition for the pilot of High School U.S.A. The role of Archie. “Crispin Glover says he doesn’t want to do TV. This is yours, Dino.”

Because I had friends in it, I had seen Crispin’s performance in High School USA. It was insanity. Nutso. “Really, Dean? A weird Crispin Glover performance?” But, again, it was awesome. So. I knew sorta what they were looking for. There was no way I could do what he did. A: It wasn’t me. 2. I couldn’t have pulled it off, anyhow. So I figured out my own weird Archie and went in to read.

It happened really fast. Within a day, I had a callback and they paired me with some other actors who were playing Chuckie. (For whatever reason, they weren’t going to use Michael Zorek.) Shooting was starting fast, so we ended up going to 20th Century Fox on a Saturday (my memory is hazy, but I’m pretty sure it was a Saturday.) and I read with a couple guys. I looked around and there weren’t any other guys reading Archie. They had me stay there with another actor, Googy Gress.

Before your final audition, “Going To Network”, for television, they make your deal. The idea is that if they really like you and you book the gig, you don’t then say “Okay, I want six billion dollars and a yacht.” So, they spell the deal out before you read. Back then, the contracts were for seven years. And, back then T.V. money was relatively shitty. The actors had not figured out that people were tuning in to see them. At the peak of Happy Days, Henry Winkler was the highest paid actor on TV. I *think* he was making fifty grand an episode. And that was after some heavy maneuvering. A lead actor on a NETWORK 1hr drama now, is making at least twice that. At least.

I was going to make $7,500 for the pilot and $4500 and episode if it went to series. Feel free to deduct 40% from Uncle Sam (you are immediately put in the tax bracket that says “cool, you’re making $7500 a week like a doctor!” after parking cars for a year, 10% from my agent, and 15% from the manager. Not the big bucks people are getting on network t.v. now. (Netflix and other streaming channels are a different story… Not one for me to tell.) The other nutty thing about those “standard” T.V. contracts was signing up for the next seven years. You commit to seven years. They increase your pay by 10% every year. However, as my manager once said to me “contracts were made to be broken.” Plus it’s a free country. You can break a contract. It’s a hassle and can cost you not only money, but industry goodwill. Still… Even though I hadn’t done anything of note, it was weird signing that network deals and thinking about playing Archie for the next seven years. (Fun fact: at this point in my life, knowing I had a paycheck for the next seven years would be the greatest thing in the world. Gimme a call.)

I go in with Googy. We nail it as much as one can nail High School USA. They tell us to wait. After a couple of minutes, Dori Weiss, the exec producer comes out and lets us know they’ll call the reps to negotiate the thing and the thing and “great job, see you Monday….” We are going to network.

We “Go to network” which is when the pressure is on. The actors are trying to be nice to each other, knowing that this job could be the difference between waiting tables (or parking cars) and owning a bunch of Los Angeles real estate. You go in and all of the network executives are there to judge you. Brandon Tartikoff, the president of NBC at least five other people in suits, the director, producers and, head of casting: Joel Thurm… Martin Short’s “Nathan Thurm” character was based on Joel Thurm.

It’s a high stress situation.

Long story short, Googy and I book the gig.

I call my dad and let him know he can rest easy because from here on out, the world is my oyster. Because my dad is my dad, he says “Well, let’s hope the checks clear.” It’s NBC. Christ. How about a “Congratulations, son?”  My mom is thrilled. Friends are happy. The reps are happy. Everyone’s happy.

DAY ONE

It’s fun. We’re having fun. Fun times. All is well. Googy and I have one scene to do. It goes okay. I remember that he hugged me and accidentally kneed me in the balls. Regardless. Good times. I’m working with people who would become friends and acquaintances until this day: Tegan West, Johnathan Gries, Anne Marie Johnson…

DAY TWO

Weird… there are a lot of people from NBC on the set. The scene that Googy and I were supposed to do has been moved to another day. Weird. After takes, there are lots of hushed discussions between the director, Jack Bender (fun fact: highschool buddies with my wife’s dad!) and producers Dori Weiss and Len Hill. Wow. Lots of network people.

At one point, Googy jokes to Dori. “Please don’t fire us!!!” Dori gets pale. Then she laughs. That was a little weird.

Man, there were a lot of network people there.

Because we are all, at this point, “hot young actors,” lunch is talk of how we want to do feature films and that T.V. sucks.

DAY THREE

I give Googy a ride to the set, which is, if I recall correctly, in Pasadena. I’m excited because today we get to do scenes with our parents. Bob Denver, Ken Oswald are going to be there. I’m so excited. Truly.

We get to the set. I have my little backpack with my books and whatnot and I walk up to the veal feeding cubicles that served as dressing rooms. The P.A. is writing something on my dressing room door where it’s supposed to say “Dean Cameron.” She immediately covers up whatever she’s writing. “Uh… Dori wants to see you guys.” I say “Okay, I’m going to get some breakfast.” I move to put my backpack in the dressing room. The P.A. sorta tries to block my way. “Um… maybe you should go see her right now.” Googy and I are super confused and shrug. I toss my backpack into my dressing room. The P.A. looks like I’ve tossed a bag of shit into the dressing room. Googy and I go to find Dori. We do. She’s by the breakfast truck with a coffee and burrito.

THE BLUR

Dori: “Hi, guys. Listen…. bad news. We’ve been watching dailies and, boy, we LOVE what you guys are doing, but THE NETWORK, really, really, really wanted what Crispin was doing, so…. um… Wow… We’re going to have to let you go.”

I realize that we are fucking being fucking FIRED!!!!!  BUT….. NOOOOOOO!!!!! This is my first big gig. This is the reason I’ve been eating shit for the past 3 years. The shitty jobs. The humiliation from the people at my shitty jobs who say “you’ll never make it as an actor, you idiot.” The fading confidence of my parents. It’s all ending right here. We are fucking getting fucking fired. I am speechless.

But, because Googy Gress is the coolest person on the planet, his immediate reply is: “We still get paid, right?” Dori nods. I’m holding back tears. This is the most awful thing that’s ever happened. I’ve never been fired from anything. It seems impossible that anyone would want to fire me because I AM SUPER FUCKING AWESOME BUT YOU ARE FIRING ME AND EVERYONE IN SHOWBIZ KNOWS THAT I SUCK NOW!!!!!

Googy says “Let’s go before traffic gets too bad.” Man, he’s fucking awesome.

I head back to my veal feeding cubicle to get my bag where it is now clear that the P.A. was writing CRISPIN GLOVER on the door.

THE AFTERMATH

I’m driving Googy home. The news is telling us that Marvin Gaye had been murdered by his father. What the fuck is happening? Googy says “Don’t worry about it. That show sucks and everyone gets fired from something. We’ll be fine.” All I can think of is what the fuck am I going to say to my fucking dad? “Hi, dad. Turns out that you were right. I suck as an actor and should be an English major or something.” I don’t know.

Here’s the deeply awful thing that NBC and the producers did or didn’t do:  They didn’t tell my reps. I was the one who had to call them and let them know. If you have good agents and managers, they will get more pissed than you can ever know by the slightest indiscretion. If it’s major:  “STAY WHERE YOU ARE! I’M CALLING THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS RIGHT NOW! WHY DIDN’T THOSE PUSSIES CALL ME!?!?” screams my manager who ended up being completely and utterly disappointed in me 10 years later. Turns out it was good practice as another client of hers ended up getting fired from one of the biggest movies ever made. Glad I was able to give her a little insight into the process.

I was so freaked out about telling my dad that I made her tell him and assure him that it wasn’t because I sucked but it was because some people at NBC were being evil shitheads. (turns out they were… keep reading) My dad kinda/sorta understood but I could still sense, even through the phone, that he was giving me that look “We both know the truth, son.”

Later that day I get a message on my answering machine. “It’s Jim from Executive Parking. You didn’t show up to your shifts. Come turn in your uniform. What’s your problem, dude?”

The check from High School U.S.A. ended up being for $1200.

INSIDE DOPE

A couple years later, I became fairly good friends with Crispin. It turns out that Googy and I were pawns in some horrible power struggle to get Crispin Glover on the show. Crispin kept asking for more and more money. The producers kept saying “hell no.” Finally, someone at the network (“That’s what you say. I didn’t say it.”) told Dori & Len “if you don’t get Crispin, there isn’t a chance in hell that your show is going to get picked up.” But… Crispin wouldn’t sign on as a regular on the show. There was, wisely, no way he was going to commit to seven years on “High School USA” and he made them hire him as a guest star. And they paid him $35,000 for the week. $35,000. Crispin Glover for the win!!!

The performance was deep insanity. Crispin said it was his “Fuck you to T.V.” and if you see the pilot it is obvious. The fun, light and weird Archie is now dark and strange. The German Expressionist performance at The Loft made his High School U.S.A. performance look like a guest star on a Nickelodeon show.

Needless to say, High School U.S.A. did not get picked up.

But: I received a very nice letter from Warren Littlefield (insert scandal here) that I’ve kept framed for the last 100 years.

Enjoy the pilot:

There were a couple scenes that didn’t make it in the final cut of Summer School. One was where Mark Harmon does a dance to James Brown’s “I Feel Good” in order to teach the class how to  conjugate English verbs. It would probably make it in some list of triggering scenes now, but it was truly funny and inspired and Mark Harmon did a super cool jump over a teacher’s desk as a finale. If you look closely, in the scene where he talks aboot how to write a letter to get free stuff, you can see the lyrics on the chalkboard behind him. Another was a scene where, after the big party at Shoop’s house, he drives Chainsaw & Dave home and Chainsaw vomits on his dad. 

There was at least one other deleted scene that is the subject of today’s has-been memories:The class of Ocean Front High (shot in the deep valley off of the coincidentally named Shoup St.) is at the beach because that’s what happens in Summer School. Anyhizzle: Anna Maria takes her top off and runs, joyfully and, more importantly, topplessly, into the ocean.

Overwhelmed with Anna Maria’s passion and plucky spirit, Chainsaw & Dave follow her into the ocean and do what any 16 year old boys would do to an insanely beautiful Italian foreign exchange student: They profess their love and then, Chainsaw & Dave aks Anna Maria to marry them. “Both of us! We love you!” She says “I love you too, but: No. We are too young.” It was a very sweet scene in the script and made lots of sense but, obviously, wasn’t necessary for inclusion in the final cut for whatever reasons….

In the original Summer School screenplay, Anna Maria was written as a hot, blonde Swedish exchange student. From what I recall, they either couldn’t find a hot, blonde Swede to play the part or they already had a hot blonde playing Pam House. You remember  Kristi Swanson as Pam House, right? You don’t? That’s because Kristy (Buffy) Swanson, who was cast as surfer girl Pam, passed so she could do another summer comedy romp: Flowers in the Attic. This resulted in the casting of my former Fast Times Co-star, Courtney Thorne-Smith – another super duper hot blonde. So, the “Hot Swedish Babe” became a “Hot Italian Babe” named Anna Maria. Fabiana Udenio was both. Hot & Italian. Bonus: Fabiana was also super cool and funny and successfully dealt with the barrage of ad-libs, non-sequiturs and general weirdness that super genius Gary Riley and I threw at her on a daily basis. 

Fun fact: When a screenplay states that nudity of any kind is going to happen, all sorts of very official crap goes on behind the scenes with agents, casting, attorneys and the person who will be unleashing the body part/s. When an actor walks in the room to audition, they are well aware that if they book the gig, they will be contractually obligated to do the nudity. Very detailed contracts spelling out the body parts to be revealed, how long said body parts, circumstances, surroundings and all sorts of good stuff are drawn up, in addition to one’s regular ridiculously long contract. 

However… This was also the 80’s where some shithead directors would aggressively attempt to coerce girls into doing nudity after the fact. “Come on, honey… They’re not that big anyway and when you’re old and saggy, you’ll be happy you showed ‘em off! You think we cast you because of your audition? Hahaha…. We cast you for two reasons and everyone wants to see those two reasons, baby!” My girlfriend at the time had been berated by one such dickweed. (I called him and told him I was heading to the set to murder him. But that’s another story.)

I believe that at the time (maybe it’s still the case, but I doubt it – thanks to free smut) boobies would help a little and bush would help a lot to bring in more money from foreign sales. (Hello, Miserable Beach) Though Summer School sounded like the title of a b-movie tit-fest, it was a Paramount Production with A-list director Carl Reiner behind the camera and People Magazine’s sexiest man alive, Mark Harmon occupying the #1 space on the call sheet. I don’t think that breastages were going to make a huge difference in whatever deals they made. It’s always possible I’m deeply wrong.

Back to the matter at hand:
The first thing I noticed when I showed up to the location in Malibu the shoot day of the marriage proposal scene was that it was difficult to park because the parking lot was jammed with black BMW’s. A couple hours later, it all made sense,  but it was as if there was a parking lot sale for black BMW’s going on in Malibu.  When I got to the make-up trailer, the usual happy “comedy movie set” mood was like we were shooting Flowers in the Attic. Tense. Weird. Quiet. 

Apparently, Fabiana was having second thoughts about releasing her Krakens and was causing what is lovingly referred to as “a scene.” 
It was October (forgive me: ROCK-Tober) beautiful blue sky and cold as can be. The water was colder. Oy. After a bit, they were able to coax Fabiana out of her dressing room to come do a rehearsal with me, Gary, Carl Reiner and the D.P. Previously, it was made abundantly clear that this day was to be a “CLOSED SET” because of the “sensitive nature” of the shoot. Closed Set means no visitors. Minimal crew, etc. 

I could see the parking lot from where we were rehearsing on the beach. It was up an incline, so one could stand up at the edge of the parking lot and look down a the ocean. It was, however, REALLY far away, but one could make out what was happening on the beach and in the water. As we walked to rehearsal I looked and saw that the edge of the parking lot was lined with at least twenty or so dudes in suits. Apparently, THIS was the day that EVERY MALE EXECUTIVE FROM PARAMOUNT just HAPPENED to say, “Gee… I think I’ll fire up the 325i and visit the Summer School set today. Golly, I wonder what scene they’re shooting… who knows, right? Allison honey, call Chin-Chin and get me a Chinese Chicken Salad for the road.” 

Make no mistake: I do NOT blame Fabiana for freaking out a little bit. I was supposed to show my butt in another movie (it never got made… I’ll write aboot that soon…) and I was freaked about that. And it was just my stupid but. Same idea… run naked into some water. Big deal, right? It’s one thing to read it in a screenplay, it’s another thing to unleash. I’ve since done full frontal on stage. I HIGHLY recommend it. There’s nothing better than dangling your participles in front of a bunch of strangers. 

The rehassle ended up being Carl Reiner delicately explaining to a terrified Fabiana that he was, in fact, CARL REINER and not a shithead hell bent on shoving the camera between her decidedly amazing aftermarket heavers for Cannon Films’ “BOOB SCHOOL.” And, instead, she simply needed to take her top off and run into the ocean to motivate two idiots who love horror films could propose to her. “The camera will be very far away.” Again, it truly seemed like he wanted to say “COME ON! I’M CARL REINER!” But, to his credit, he maintained his Reiner Calm(c) as he spoke with her.

They’d supplied me and Gary with wet suit bottoms but as a show of solidarity with Fabiana, we opted out of using them, which led to the very honest ad-lib “MY TESTICLES HAVE LEFT THE BUILDING AND MY PENIS IS NOW THE SIZE OF A PENCIL ERASER!” that did not, sadly, make it into the final cut with the rest of the scene. 

Finally. Carl Reiner convinced Fabiana that he was, in fact, CARL REINER, and wasn’t out to make “PARA-MOUNDS PRODUCTION OF BEACH BABE BEAVER HEAVERS” but there was going to be a shot, from very far away, of her with her top Offaly she happily runs in to the ocean. They decided that once we were shooing closer in the ocean, she could electrical-tape her nipples. This is done because footage with black electrical tape over a ladies’ nipples is basically unusable. 

TANGENT ALERT! Speaking of full frontal nudity on stage for a paying audience: I acted in a play called Love Tapes at Sacred Fools Theater here in L.A. It was directed by Jessie, the woman who would end up as my bride and mother to our astonishing son, Duncan. Love Tapes was written by Steven Banks & Penn Jillette. Bonus: It was really good. Awards were won. As I said, I did a full frontal scene. I happened upon a review written by an audience member who wrote “I saw Love Tapes with Dean Cameron who is naked. I can tell you that Dean Cameron has a small part in Love Tapes.” I don’t remember who this person is but I do know that he is an evil genius.

Where were we?
Right: This has been my experience filming other nude and semi-nude scenes. The first 30 minutes of shooting are all about covering the nudeness as soon as cut is called. It is a big deal – more for show than anything – the wardrobe people dramatically rush over to cover exposed bits with blankets like you do when someone has set themselves on fire. STOP. DROP. ROLL!!! 

Then, a little time passes  and it’s established that the crew are all adults here and we just want to finish the scene and go home. After about an hour, we might as well have been at a topless club. The only people who gave a Flying Frito about Fabiana’s Udenios were the twenty or so junior and senior Paramount Execs that came to see a real, live set of naked breastages from a quarter mile away.

It ended up being a fine day in a series of fine days on the set o’ Summer School. Everyone was awesome, present company excluded, but… I never got to see the scene. I remember it as being very touching (hey… stop that!) The Anna Maria character was so earnest and present. Fabiana was perfect. Surprised it never ended up on a DVD or, at the very least pirated on the YouTubes. 

Oh well.

FUN FACT: In the ocean, I peed a LOT and never told anyone. I suppose that means I peed on Carl Reiner. Maybe THAT is the real point of this story.

Yeah.

I peed on Carl Reiner!

I play in a karaoke band. Coreyoke. Originally, we wore “80’s” wigs and played 80s tunes and the conceit was that we were the “Coreys from the 80s, Feldman, Haim & Hart” and that Michael Jackson, as an apology for past “transgressions,” had promised up an opening slot on his upcoming tour if we could learn how to play music. 

Since then, we have dropped the wigs and the Corey personas. (For a bit, we had to change our official names to Corey Hamm & Corey Feldstein because of a very intense conversation with a very intense attorney who wanted to make sure that people knew we weren’t the actual “Corey’s.” No one really cared about Corey Hart, so we kept the drummer as Corey Hart.) Now we play 150+ songs from the 60s all the way through Katy Perry. It’s still Coreyoke but confusing.

Around 2011, COREYOKE he been playing every Thursday night at The Happy Ending, a sports and “bro” bar in Hollywood. 

(Sidebar: decades previous, when I had just moved to L.A. in 1980, it was a Mexican restaurant that had a “Happy Hour” from 3pm – 7pm. I used to take the bus with a guy who lived in a neighboring apartment in the same slum where we lived near MacArthur Park to the Happy Hour at said Mexican Restaurant – yes, I was 17 – it was 1980 – no one cared – and buy a single $5 margarita and gorge ourselves on the free included appetizers. That was the only food we could afford all day.) 

Let me tell you about playing in a karaoke band. As a teetotaler (that’s changed, believe you me!) at the time, my tolerance for drunk people was very low. (It still is. What can I say: I’m a hypocrite!) When you’re playing in a band in a bar, you encounter a plethora of drunk people. Some of them may even be in your karaoke band. The drunk people who aren’t in your karaoke band want to know why you don’t play “Landslide” and “American Pie” and “Hotel California.” Here’s why you don’t play those songs: “Landslide”, “American Pie” and “Hotel California” are long. More importantly: theyy are downers. MOST IMPORTANTLY: You don’t sing them as well as you think you do. When the singer sucks, your audience are then subjected to someone sucking for 7-10 minutes. We like to play short, upbeat songs that people actually like. Sure, sometimes I would let it slip that I hate the fucking Eagles and that was not cool, but whatever…. 

At the intersection of my life and this story, the bride and I had a 3 year old son and were living in a rental in Burbank, having done a short sale on the house that we’d bought at the LITERAL PEAK OF THE HOUSING BUBBLE IN FEBRUARY 2007! We had put all of our savings into that fucking house and had fairly massive credit card debt on account of the lack of voice over work thanks to a stupid SAG strike and a global financial meltdown that coincided with us buying a house at THE LITERAL PEAK OF THE HOUSING BUBBLE IN FEBRUARY 2007!

The bride had picked up the occasional freelance editing gig, but her career was not the full on professional in-demand editor career that it is now. 
I’d given up on showbiz. Thanks to the commercial actors strike, Voice Overs were dead. On camera hadn’t happened in years. FORTUNATELY, I’d managed to find some work in the real world at some web companies as a front end developer. LegalZoom, eFax, iWin and CyberDefender. I was fairly good at writing HTML/CSS. I started late in life, but I was okay at front-end. 

At this point, I was working at Ticketmaster as… well… I *thought* I’d been hired as a front end developer, but it turned out that I’d been hired as a software engineer, a position that made no sense to me. Shit was so confusing to me. If you want to know why your tickets from Ticketmaster are so expensive it’s because they hired me and people like me. I was making good money. But… I did not do anything. Literally. Really. Literally, I did nothing. Early on, one of the other engineers said to me “Yeah, it’ll take you about two years to understand how everything works.” It took over a month for me to get a computer to work on and another two weeks to receive all the required permissions for me to log in if I actually knew what I was doing. I’d sit there and surf the web on my phone. Ridiculous. 

The code was so fucked there. One of my assignments was to change the date on the footer of all of the pages. A job that should take five minutes. But, because code had been written by so many people over decades, it took me three weeks to find all of the places to change the date. 

I would literally go into the bathroom at least once a week and cry. The guy who was my “mentor” lived in Northern California and would delete my work and then tell me that I deleted it. Stuff would disappear. Full on gaslighting. Madness. I would email my supervisor that I needed help and he’d write back “You’re doing great!”  Literally every spare minute I had was spent online or in a book trying to figure out JavaScript and VIM and their stupid way of doing things. I tried to transfer to a position I was actually qualified for: writing html/css but the guy who ran that department said “you’d be the first white person I hired… not sure I want that here…” At the time, I thought it was funny, but it’s not so funny now. I ended up just sleeping in my cubicle or down in the employee lounge. I was hoping they’d fire me.

So that was going on during the day – I’m hoping it’s clear that things were bad bad bad bady badenstein.

The upside to all of this was: The Bride and our son, Duncan. She was, and continues to be the literal light of my life and the boy made it all worthwhile. 

Today’s story… FINALLY:

After a night of dealing with drunkards who were pissed that we only knew 140 songs, and other musicians who were pissed that we were only making $250 each a night, I packed up all my gear in my car and pulled in behind a car. It was “closing time” 2am.

 I’m behind a car in the parking lot, and the guy in front of me decides to get out of his car and start talking to a friend who is waiting in the valet line or something. Then he gets back in and stays in his car and keeps talking, from the drivers side window, to the person in the line across from him. I take a deep breath. “Okay… it’s 2am or whatever… I can wait for a couple minutes for this asshole… another minute isn’t going to make a huge difference….”
I wait for a bit. Listen to XM Comedy radio to cheer myself up. If this guy would just move up a foot or two, I could go around him. Nope. He’s talking to his buddy and that conversation is, apparently, the most important thing in the world right now. There are five or six cars behind me. They start honking their horns. His middle finger goes up. Okay. Great.

Finallllllly…. he pulls up a foot or two. I go around him to my left. I roll down my passenger window and say “I appreciate that you decided to let the rest of us go home. Thank you.” 

His reply is every curse word in the world. I get a look at him. He’s actually a little guy. Sorta squirrelly. Skinny. A wisp of a 20-something with super cool shades. He’s yelling at me. One of the things he’s yelling that stick with me is “I’M A TRAINED MMA FIGHTER!!!” I sock that away in my brain. 
As someone who enjoys fucking with people I say to him. “I find you very attractive and I would love to have you suck my cock right now, but I don’t swing that way and my wife and child are at home, waiting for me to return. But… know that you are a very, very attractive and sexy young man!” 

This sets him off even more. I might have blown him a kiss. Okay. I did. I admit it: I blew him a kiss. 

I pulled away and was right at the exit when some other car stopped in front of me. 

The guy then shows up at my passenger window. “WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM, FAGGOT!!??” 

I’ve found that if someone gets super intense, if you lower the volume and get super calm, it makes them even more insane. So… I got super calm. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was just saying that you are very sexy and if I were to swing that way, I’d be fine having you suck my cock, but I’d rather not. I am married with a son. I’m sorry. But I can tell that you are very sexy and you have a very sexy mouth. I’m sure my penis would fit in there nicely. You are very cute. Very tempting, but no thank you.” 

Listen, I really don’t care about who has sex with who, but it was obvious to me that this guy cared who has sex with who and certainly didn’t want people thinking he would have sex with *gasp* men, so I may have leaned on that. A whole bunch.

And, as expected, he went fucking nuts. “STEP OUT OF YOUR CAR MOTHERFUCKER! I’LL KICK YOUR FUCKING ASS, MOTHERFUCKER!!!” 
I have been in a couple fights in my life. After a particularly bad one in 9th grade, the vice-principal at my mid-high said “Dean you have a bad temper. You can’t fight anyone ever again because you might kill them. Your body has grown so that when you hit someone, it can really hurt them. Walk away from now on, okay? Promise me?” Don’t get me wrong: I was a wussy little wisp of a person, but Mr. Ernst understood my rage. 

I wave at the guy, who is now out of his car and at my passenger window. “I’m sorry, buddy. No blowjobs, but thank you. I’m flattered!”

That’s when he spit on me. On my face. He spit on my face.

The path out of the Happy Ending driveway was open now. I could’ve left. I could have gone home now. 

It was one of those moments where everything slows wayyyyyy the fuck down. When everything is chaos around you, but you have that magical time to think.

“Well, you could go home now, Dean. You could go home with this guys’ spit on your face. And you would be the guy who let a guy spit on you. And that might be okay, but you’d have to think about this for the rest of your life. ‘I’m the guy who let a squirrelly dude spit on me because i was joking about his masculinity.’ Or you can get out of your car and see what happens, Dean. What are you going to do, Dean?”

And I thought about my “mentor” at Ticketmaster who was bullying me and literally laughing at me because I wasn’t qualified for my job. The credit card collection people who sneered at me on the phone because I was over 40 and in debt. The manager I didn’t stand up to when she said I wasn’t a priority. The casting people who’d said “there’s a hair issue.” The friends who said they’d read my script but never returned a call. All that self-pity shit. Right or wrong. Who knows. 

But mainly, I thought about my kid and how I would tell him that if anyone ever spit on him, that he should get out of the fucking car and deal with the person who spit on him, even if he got the shit beaten out of him.

So… I got out of the car. 

The guy was surprised. He was definitely NOT expecting me to get out of my car. 

Here’s what I know about fighting: Whoever gets the first punch in usually wins. I also know that “fighting fair” is utter bullshit. I know that, in a street fight, anything goes. Get the first strike in and do whatever it takes to get the guy down. Walk away as a winner.

I also have him yelling “I’M A TRAINED MMA FIGHTER!” on a loop in my head. So… he’s a trained MMA fighter. I’ve taken some kickboxing classes, but I’m not a “TRAINED MMA FIGHTER!” Let’s see what happens?

He wasn’t very big. I’m 5’9 160…. I had at least 10 pounds on him, but…. I keep thinking “I’M A TRAINED MMA FIGHTER!!”

He starts to say something, but….  I just kick him as hard as I can, directly in the balls. It is a perfect hit and it drops him to the ground. First punch: Check. Don’t fight fight fair: Check.

Out of the corner of my eyes I see the Happy Ending bouncers head over.
The squirrelly guy is down. “What the fuck, old man? What the fuck?” To which I reply: “Old man? Old man? Old man JUST KICKED YOU IN THE FUCKING BALLS!”

I wasn’t that old. 45? That’s not that old. 

Squirrelly guy stands up. Again, all I’m thinking is “I’M A TRAINED MMA FIGHTER” so I do my best kickboxing kick and, once again, I kick him directly in the balls part two: electric boogaloo. 

He’s down again. “What the fuck, dude?” To which I say “OLD MAN? OLD MAN? OLD MAN KICKED YOU IN THE FUCKING BALLS, DUDE. OLD MAN KICKED YOU IN THE MOTHERFUCKING BALLS!”

I move in to lay him out completely because, remember, he did say “I’M A TRAINED MMA FIGHTER!!!” So I need to protect myself because anything could happen, right? I need to “finish him!” He could be planning something. I’m ready to knee him in the head. Seems right, yes? I’m ready to commit intense violence on this kid… 

Thankfully… for someone… the bouncers, who are dying laughing, by the way – pull me away. “OLD MAN KICKED YOU IN THE BALLS, MOTHERFUCKER!! OLD MAN KICKED YOU IN THE MOTHER. FUCKING. BALLS. MOTHER. FUCKER!” I keep repeating as the bouncers gently guide me back to my car. 

“Okay, Dean. Time to go home.” I am high on adrenaline and victory.“Old man kicked that fucker in his fucking balls!”

“Yes, Dean… old man kicked him in his balls. Just… Go home, okay?”

So I get in my car. I can hear the squirrelly dude going “I can’t believe you!” As the bouncer, who is now sucking wind – laughing like Brian Regan has been doing a private set for him, says “Dean…. just… god damnit… just go home… holy shit…”

I SCREAM “OLD. MAN. KICKED. YOU. IN. THE. FUCKING. BALLS. MOTHERFUCKER!!!! OLD. MAN. KICKED. YOU. IN. THE. FUCKING. BALLS. MOTHERFUCKER!!!!” 

And I drive home. 

After unloading all of my gear into the garage, I climb into bed.
Jessie: How was the gig tonight?

Dean: I got in a fight. I beat the shit out of a guy in the parking lot.

Jessie: I love you, Dean. I love you.

Alf. aka Alien Life Form. A show about an alien who befriends an American family. Cute stuff. I never watched it. I’ve never watched the episodes. I believe it was one of the biggest shows of its time. Correct me. During its heyday, the merchandising was more profitable than Star Wars and, if memory serves, the cast later sued some folks because they weren’t getting their share of said astonishing merch royalties.

The beginning of 1990 was an omen for my 90’s in general. Bad. It involves the woman who broke me as well as the writing being on the wall for the impending collapse of my climb up the ladder of being in movies. Without getting too specific, I had been in a tumultuous relationship with a girl for several years. We’d broken up for quite a while, then gotten back together and moved into an amazing rental up in Laurel Canyon. It was, for me, idyllic. For her… not so much, I guess. More aboot that in a bit.

At this point, I was ignoring the advice of .38 Special and holding on to everything wayyy too tightly. My career, my relationship… my hairline…. They were all slipping away and I was trying to keep everything as it was. Never a good idea. 

I was at ICM and they weren’t so much into sending me out for guest star stuff on t.v, even though I hadn’t been working. I had done Men At Work, but it was a supporting role. I’d gotten a great paycheck and billing because I kept turning it down (another story for a later date) but it was still a supporting role. Finally, they relented and much to my dismay, I auditioned for a recurring gig on ALF. 

I went in,  not giving a fuck, and made them laugh with the “aging mime” scenes. I don’t think the other stuff was so good, but the old man scenes (in the future) I was happy with. I don’t think they really wanted me BUT my agent was the daughter one of the executive producers. So… I booked three episodes on Alien Life Form. AKA Alf. 

I received a sort of “rule sheet” with my script. The main one being “Don’t refer to ALF as a puppet. ALF is ALF.” Yep. When talking about ALF (a puppet) you don’t say, The Puppet, you say “ALF.” Are we clear? 

Okay, that was funny and weird and I could deal with that. I made a sort of offhand joke about it to one of the crew guys and he said “They are super serious about that. It’s ALF.” Okay. Okay. Great. Good to know.

If I wasn’t so lazy, I’d look up the season I was on. It was either the last season or the penultimate season. Needless to say, the cast was over being on ALF. They were super duper way over being on ALF and here’s one reason why.

When you do a tv show, they have a reading of the script. The ALF weeks began on Monday and taping was Thursday & Friday instead of just one tape day in front of an audience on Friday because to control the pup… to control ALF, they had an elaborate series of trenches and remote controls. I liked doing live audience shows and was bummed that they didn’t tape in front of an audience. So… at the Monday reading, I swear to you, the ALF scripts were hilarious. Every character had funny, funny stuff. It was clever and sweet. But… by tape day, ALF had all of the funny lines and the rest of the script had been re-written to feature the title character: ALF. Makes sense in a way, but… oh well, it was their show and they could do what they wanted.

The point is, by time we started shooting the second episode, I was demoralized and bummed because all of the funny stuff I had was given to ALF or just cut to make ALF funnier. 

While this was going on, the girlfriend went off to New York City to take an acting workshop. After a couple of days of not hearing from her, I began to get a bit worried as one does. I would call… get an answering machine. No reply. 

Word came down that they were going to do some re-shoots on Men At Work. And those would be at night. So I would leave ALF and then spend nights at a landfill. It was only supposed to be a couple of days but it was January and it rains in January in Southern California. So… the couple days ended up being, if I remember correctly, about 10 days. I was getting no sleep. There was one point when we were taping an ALF scene when I could not remember a line. Not one line. I couldn’t remember who I was or what I was doing and the director and ALF (he was also the producer/show-runner) were super bummed at me. I went into my trailer and literally cried myself to sleep.

The girlfriend was MIA. This was bad. Very, very bad. 

And now, the fun stuff: Max Wright was one of those classic, New York City, Broadway actors. He’d done all the classics. Shakespeare in the Park… All that cool stuff that one does as an actor in NYC. I figured that when he booked the pilot for ALF, he told his friends in NYC “I’m going to do this stupid show about an alien played by a puppet. It’ll never get picked up but it’ll pay my rent for the next two years. See you in a couple of weeks.” Cut to: several years later – Max Wright is now: “The Dad on ALF.” He was a good egg. Sweet to everyone. Really. Very cool to work with. Always trying to make the scene better. Maybe I saw a full bar on top of a piano in his dressing room. Maybe I didn’t. My memory is fuzzy about that. If I did, I couldn’t blame him for it. 

ALF wasn’t in this scene. It was just the family, so I was standing next to the exec who played ALF who was also the showrunner watching a scene being camera blocked. (Camera Blocking: The actors have basically worked out the scene, but the director is now figuring out where the cameras go when they shoot the scene.) I was watching, I think because I wanted the producer to know that I wasn’t an idiot and I felt bad for the scene I couldn’t remember. So I’m standing next to him… 

At one point, the woman who played the mother said to no one in particular “I don’t know if I should be in this scene. I really have nothing to do…” then Andrea, the girl who played the daughter, chimed in with a similar statement. “Yeah… what’s the deal with this scene?” Or something.
Max Wright blurts out. “THAT’S IT! THAT’S IT!!!” 

And work stops. Everyone steps back because, we are about to get a performance. 

(I’m going to stop for a second just to say this – She may have been right. There may have been no reason at all for her to be in the scene. After a little over a week of working on the show, I didn’t think anyone needed to be in any of the scenes, but we were there. Also… things get tense on t.v and movie sets. It’s like any job. People get upset with their co-workers and then everything is fine. I didn’t tell this story for a long time to protect the parties involved, but it’s been so long and they have all moved on and are doing well. Maybe the guy who played the mime is having girl trouble… who knows?)

“You always do this!” Says Max. “Do what?” She replies, confused. “You never want to be here! You never want to work!” “What are you talking about!?! I’m just trying to figure out why…” He cuts her off… “No you are trying to get out of this scene! I’m here. I’m at work. I’m here to work. I want to try and do this stupid scene, but you do not!” Then he points at Andrea (she later appeared on They Came From Outer Space if you care at all. She was very funny and sweet.) “You’re the same way!!” The two ladies began yelling at him. I glance over at the producer. He checks his watch. Max then yells out one of the greatest lines ever. The actual greatest line will follow… guaranteed. Max yells “I’M SICK OF WORKING WITH PEOPLE WHO WOULD RATHER BE SHOPPING!!!”

This pisses Andrea and the mom off so much that they walk off the set. I hear a sigh from the producer. Mr. Wright begins ranting. I’m not sure what about, but I attribute it to season after season of having your great lines stolen by a puppet. Sorry! ALF. So sorry… He continues on for maybe half a minute. Then he says the greatest thing I’ve ever heard.

“PUT US ON STICKS!!! WE’RE THE PUPPETS! WE’RE THE PUPPETS!!!”

And he storms off.

I want to laugh but I can’t. I feel so sad for everyone on the show. Not just the actors but obviously this producer who had a great idea several years ago and sold a show about a cat eating alien befriending a family on earth and just wants to get to syndication and then buy himself a small country or something.

The assistant director, whose job it is to keep things moving, calls in the stand-ins to finish camera blocking. It’s like the incident never happened. From the way it’s going, I deduce that something similar to this happens fairly regularly.

Remember: I’m punch drunk from no sleep and an impending breaking heart as well as the bitter realization that I’m recurring on ALF. I figure I’ll say something funny, clever and cute to the producer. He’ll “get me” and will come up with a great pitch for a show about a guy in his late 20’s with bushy eyebrows and weird hair. 

I turn to him and say “Does ALF throw tantrums?”

Sidebar: A few years ago… We were cleaning out our garage and Maggie, my sister-in-law, was going through some old photographs of me during my heyday. After an hour or so of this she said to me “Dean you had a SWAGGER.” 

And it’s true. I can’t imagine the booollz it took me to say that to him. But I did. Good for me.

Back to the matter at hand:

There’s a pause. He doesn’t look at me. He keeps looking forward. And very, very softly and simply, he says “No. No he doesn’t.” And continues to watch camera blocking.

I like to think that he was dreaming up his next show. At this point I’m positive it was not about a guy in his late 20s with big eyebrows and weird hair, but a show with absolutely no humans in it at all. No humans anywhere that can’t be shitcanned as fast as you can say “puppet.”

And from then on, when I work or think about working or see people working or watching movies or hear someone’s idea for a movie or a t.v show, I think of Max Fucking Wright and his brilliance.
PUT US ON STICKS. WE’RE THE PUPPETS! WE’RE THE PUPPETS!

POST SCRIPT: When I found the photos from the episode, it says that it was the fourth and final season. So disregard all my blathering about seven years… I was just wrong. It only seemed like seven years, maybe?

At a certain point, casting people and producers got it into their stupid heads that all I could do was act like a crazy person. Helen Sugland, my manager, and my agents at the time fought like hell to get me in for the male lead of 18 Again, one of the legion of 80’s Body Switching movies.

George Burns was attached to be the switchee or something and it was a big deal.

Helen made it clear that when I went in to read for everyone (this was back when actors would actually audition in the same room for the people hiring them) that I shouldn’t “act like a fucking weirdo” and be cool… “Be a grownup, Dean.”

Sidebar: there’s nothing worse than someone telling you that people think you’re a fucking idiot. So… thanks for the support, Helen.

The scene was some stupid piece of shit 80’s shit scene that I worked on for a couple days. It was nothing. I think back on all those crappy movies and realize that preparing was the worst thing I could’ve done. Kids: just go in and read. If it’s a movie, or t.v. show, it’s probably not anything you haven’t thought of or lived through, so just go in there and pretend. Don’t spend any time preparing other than knowing what the scene is about and what the basic gist of your lines are. Sorry, David Mamet. (If it’s David Mamet, learn the lines really well. He’s worth it. Shakespeare, too.)

I go in and am very mature. I have a red sweatshirt on over a t-shirt. I’m very casual and polite. Very mellow. I’m not “acting like a weirdo.”

(Another sidebar for you kids: if you haven’t worked in a while, your agents will start to blame you for not working. maybe they’re right, but the point is that you’re fine. you’re not a weirdo. you’re you. just go in and read.)

It’s all going very well. I’m being very suave and “leading man-ish” and reading when suddenly I feel a pain in my shoulder like I’ve never felt in my life. “Holy shit!” I yell. “Something bit me.” I see the casting person and the producer and director visibly sag. They are so disappointed. “Dean Cameron the Fucking Weirdo” has appeared and is sucking up the room.

I try to cover up the thing I just did, but screaming “HOLY SHIT SOMETHING BIT ME!” is difficult to cover up, so I keep going. Obviously, the rest of the audition sucks the ass of a dying pig and they don’t make eye contact when I finish.

“No, really..” I say after the read “…something bit me.” There are uncomfortable nods all around. “Yeah, that happens…” says some asshole. I skulk out of the room.

When I get to my car, the 1988 Toyota Celica Convertible that I bought with the Paramount Development Deal money, I take my sweatshirt off.

A dead bee falls to the pavement.

I was so pissed. I wanted to take the bee back in to the room and show them. “I’m not a fucking weirdo, you fucking weirdos, I got stung by a goddamned bee! I wasn’t lying! See!!!??” But I figure that would be the weirdest thing that anyone had ever seen in an audition room, so I just swallowed my shittiness and went about my day.

One of the worst phrases I would hear from my manager, Helen, was “Dean… tell me about what happened today.”

Later, I got a call. “Dean… tell me about what happened today.” I told her. She wasn’t amused or sympathetic. I thought about leaving the management company that day, but it took me another 20 years to split.

I’m still waiting to hear if I got the gig.

the city recycles plastic bags now! spread the hope!!!!!!!!

Apparently the government has finally figured out what to do with bags and coathangers in the blue bins and i can put them in the blue bins for recycling instead of… i’ll get to that.

I wrote back: Spread the hope?

she wrote: for an actual future with clean sustainable fuels and energy????

Having listened to enough episodes of the Skeptics Guide to the Universe…
I wrote: Spread the logical fallacies!!!!!!!

Because it is a logical fallacy that before Los Angeles (she is a producer/writer/actress on at least ONE hit t.v. show, lives in a REALLY nice part of town with her 3 kids, big van and a couple of other cars, a big house… i’m getting ahead of myself) decided to accept those items in the recycling bin, there was no hope for a future with clean sustainable fuels and energy. That’s one, another is that now that there is recycling of plastic bags and coat-hangers there is hope of “an actual future with clean sustainable fuels and energy”.

I figured that I was in for it, and I certainly was because within one minute she wrote back:
I knew you were gonna say that! republican!

And that is the level of critical thinking and argumentation which then leads us to another logical fallacy: “reducto ad republican.” Anyone questioning views about x (usu. the environment) is an evil republican.

Not even disagreeing… Simply questioning.

She labeled me as someone who probably has an imaginary friend, pro-war, and thinks that I give a fuck about what folks do with their genitals. That’s the very least of it… I’m pretty sure it also means that I want poor people to “die in the streets”.

Reducto Ad Republican is so disappointing. When I raise questions; again not disagreeing, about things like global warming, universal health care, the stupid wars, I find myself making sure that the other person knows I am not a republican. That’s the sort of hoop i first jump through.

Back to the email… After Reducto Ad Republican, I wrote:

Yep. i disagree with you so i must be a Republican.
logical fallacy.

to which she dug into her argumentation for 1st graders book and replied:

yuch
I wish I was as smart as you

(Isn’t it “were”?) I digress…

So at this point, I’m so sad. One of the most disappointing things to me is when someone is obvious. You know, you get a job on How to Get Away with Murder or something and a friend who is having a hard time says “Oh, that show? I don’t watch it. I tried and it was so stupid. I just don’t care about it.” It’s just obvious and sad.

And what she was doing was having the 1st draft of an argument between me and a hippie. If one were to write the scene between those characters, one would give her some better lines, right? You’d think of less childish than “I wish I was as smart as you”. So, she’s being obvious and it breaks my heart a little.

I mean, yeah, i do wish she was/were as smart as me. I wish everyone was/were as smart as me. Then we’d have “morons” instead of “fucking morons”. (see how i fall on my sword?)

I wrote back:
facts suck, don’t they?

The point I was attempting to make in a few short, pithy words was kinda/sorta; dealing with the facts isn’t as fun as dealing with feelings.

To which she reached deep inside and came up with:
yes, sir and you must be… facts?

This is now Reducto Ad IKnowYouAreButWhatAmIminem. Like I said, she has a bunch of kids, so she’s being taught by masters.

It gets me so sad and angry at this point that I have to take a walk. Before I go I write:

I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.

When I get back she had sent me:
aw Dean
thanks
you’re good
I like your brain.

Listen, what I know about the environment is, well, complicated. I have only recently re-tasted and swallowed the global warming kool-aid, but am still skeptical about what we should do. Or that “we” can even do anything.

I do think that something as important as the environment is probably best not left to people whose job is spending lots of their job trying to get their job again; senators, congressmen and others of their ilk.

And this is the part where you are required to think “OH SO YOU WANT THOSE FUCKERS AT ENRON AND GLOBAL CROSSING TO BE IN CHARGE? YOU WANT THOSE CORPORATE WHORES…. BLAH BLAH BLAH” reducto ad republican…

So, just think that and let it pass just for a minute, okay? just put it on hold. and just give me a little bit of time to explain because, you know, the people who question stuff are required to explain that we’re not thieving corporate child killers but are just aksing questions.

So. I’m not a thieving corporate racist child killer. I’m little me.

I think the environmental discussion is full of hysteria and rotten logic. I think much of it has lots in common with religion. not a nice, touchy feely religion, either. A real hardcore, wild eyed fundamentalist kill people and destroy property religion.

Oh. Wow. Some do that, don’t they.

Hmmm…

Sooooo… Again, i really think that if it’s so important, we can’t let politicians be in charge. What if the “solutions” are wrong?(Let’s just say that we buy into Kyoto.) Then it is a government program and it is just about impossible to get rid of a gov’t program that has no function. Just imagine that The Kyoto Protocol is worthless and some other thing came along that could help the environment, then people would still go batshit that whatever presidential administration was dismantling the Kyoto Protocol.

My point is this: It is really self-centered to think that putting your coat hangers in the blue trash bin does anything to “save the environment” and it certainly isn’t something that “Spreads the hope”.

Well… wonder no more.

I’m charging a little more than cost to pay the legal fees for me selling buttons with my own unauthorized image on them.

ALL SOLD OUT! SORRYYYYYYY

Okay.

I think that getting people to see me for roles in movies and television or come out and see The Nigerian Spam Scam Scam makes more sense as it’s something that utilizes just about everything I do but a podcast could be interesting.

The Half-Assed Cast was fun while it lasted.

I’m thinking of doing one on my own where I each episode has me “visiting” a place I’ve lived during my journey here on earth.

But, until I get off my ass and do that,I’ve been aksed to be a part of The Movie Sneak podcast. It’s a couple guys who I do not know at all, Craig Jameson & Jim DeLaney. They are a couple of big time movie buffs who know and care way more about show-biz than I do.

The first episode hits the internets 11/2/2015 and the first one I’m in will be unleashed 11/09/2015.

Subscribe on iTunes

More info here:
http://www.art19.com/shows/movie-sneak