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  andy [at] negrospaceprogram [dot] com

My latest gig is on this new show. It’s the best thing I’ve worked on since Malcolm in the Middle. And it shares much of that show’s sensibility. Premiers Sunday, March 14th on Fox at 9:30 pm, right after Family Guy.

Few Youtubes make me jealous. But damn I should have done this one.

A great video from my friend Adam Paul.

I wrote this for Vanity Fair online. With generous help from Nell Scovell, I got it published. Check it the hell out.

I believe it was Ken Burns who observed that documentarians are the most important people in the known universe. But as a humble member of the esteemed Documentarian Community, I’ve always had my doubts about that statement. Today, with some embarrassment, I must admit that my humility may have been misplaced. There is now overwhelming evidence that my award-qualifying 2003 documentary, The Old Negro Space Program, has influenced, if not goaded, President Obama into nominating General Charles F. Bolden. Jr. as the first African-American to lead NASA.

The original:

The response:

Mr. Gum is a book series for kids that is wildly popular in the U.K. and has just reached our shores here in the USofA. I have the honor of working with the author, a mad genius named Andy Stanton, on an animated series based on these wonderful books. Our project is in the very early stages and may never see the light of day. But why wait for us to succeed before you enjoy the magic of Mr. Gum? If you have a boy or girl age 9 to 12, you will not regret introducing him or her to these books.

As for me, not many.

17

My latest project is a new comedy on the Starz Network. Hollywood Residential gives you a picture of Hollywood that you will never see on “Entourage.” It’s about a man barely managing to hang onto the fringes of show business.

The man, Tony King, is the host of a low-budget cable show that does home makeovers for celebrities. Tony is a frustrated actor himself. A terrible actor. And only marginally better as a handyman. All he wants is to be an insider. But his celebrity guests treat him like the help. To make matters worse, Tony’s show has recently hired a co-host, a beautiful, charming woman who is instantly more successful than Tony. She’s on her way up. Tony is not. Why? Maybe he is preoccupied with other stuffs like how to enhance his personal fortunes and would spend too much time researching on websites like Love Money than pursuing his Hollywood dream.

Part of the fun of Hollywood Residential is that we shot with real celebrities playing themselves. Our eight-episode season includes Paula Abdul, Tom Arnold, Carmen Elektra, Jamie Kennedy, Chris Kattan, Cheryl Hines, John Cho and Beverly D’Angelo. They all had a blast making fun of themselves and Hollywood.

The other part of the fun is that, since we’re on pay-cable, we can have foul language and nudity. And yes, we took advantage of that. I have to say, shooting with naked people turned out to be much less awkward than I expected.

Watch Hollywood Residential on Starz. I’m proud of it.

A few years ago I took the audio tour at the Getty Museum. There I found what I still consider to be the greatest piece of found comedy ever. It is the audio description of a painting by Italian Renaissance artist Dosso Dossi. Never mind who Dosso Dossi is! It doesn’t matter! I didn’t know and you don’t have to either! Just listen!

When I heard this, I immediately dragged my friend Margaux to the same spot and made her listen to it with me. We obsessed over this thing. A few months later, we returned and ripped the recording by plugging a tape recorder into the audio guide. I play it now for your enjoyment.

You may ask, “Shouldn’t I see the painting before hearing the description?” Absolutely not! No no no. Don’t even google the painting. Your enjoyment of this recording will be far greater if you never see the painting. Just picture yourself standing in front of a painting, any painting, and listen to these academics explain to you why the painting is in a museum in the first place. It is a thing of beauty!

You will ask yourself, as I did that day, “How did it ever come to this?”

I considered transcribing the audio and including it here, but that would ruin it. Just listen. Marvel at the earnestness. The slight academic smugness. The outright futility of it all. And most of all, the timing. It’s perfect in every way.

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

As a member of the Writers Guild of America, I took to the picket line this week to strike for residuals on internet downloads of programs I’ve written. Here is my strike diary:

9:00 a.m. I arrive at the Sony lot in Culver City to sign in and pick up my free t-shirt. There are no more t-shirts available. I feel stabbed in the back by my own union. I forgive, but I will never forget.

9: 05 a.m. I am assigned to picket Gate 1, the executive entrance. My guild has placed me at the front line, to be the public face of the strike in the eyes of the people who count the most. I consider this my second stab in the back.

9:10 a.m. I can’t remember how many laps of this gate I have made. Four, maybe five. I’ve lost track. There is a burning in my calves like I have never experienced before in my life.

9:15 a.m. The distinct taste of rust climbs up through my throat with every wheezing breath. I desperately check the headlines on my iPhone, hoping against hope that this madness will end. That the people who have signed up for the next shift will not have to endure one minute of the pain I have now been subjected to for over seven agonizing minutes.

9:25 a.m. The brain plays tricks on one who is under this much duress. I think I see my father, who has been dead for 15 years. He smiles and offers me a five-foot cone of cotton candy. But when I try to lick it, I am told I am molesting one of my fellow strikers.

9:32 a.m. An older man stops by to chat, telling us that he worked as a teamster for many years and supports our cause. He reaches out to shake my hand. I have never been so afraid.

10:00 a.m. Every muscle in my body screams for mercy with every step. I begin to marvel at my own naiveté. For years I believed in God. Now I know for a fact that he doesn’t exist. He can’t exist. No God would stand idly by, watching this happen to one of his own children.

10:01 a.m. My momentary panic subsides when I think of the people of Darfur. I feel humble, even grateful, to realize that somewhere in the world there are people who may understand what I’m going through.

10:45 a.m. I find a volleyball, which I decorate with the blood from my own hand. I name it Wilson. I am told I am molesting one of my fellow strikers again.

11:00 a.m. A strike captain arrives with news from the front. The strike is getting great coverage in the press. At the NBC lot in Burbank, Jay Leno has shown his support by dropping off Krispy Kreme doughnuts for the strikers. But where is our Jay Leno. Who will be our Jay Leno? Jay Leno can’t help us here.

11:12 a.m. The minutes blend into one another. I have lost all sense of day or night. A policeman stops by to remind us if we parked on the street, we’ll have to move our cars after two hours. I fall to my knees and confess to the 1996 Atlanta bombing.

11:21 a.m. I receive a supportive text message from my wife. I weep, just like a contestant on Survivor, who wins a reward challenge and is allowed a five-minute AOL video chat with her mother, who, just a week earlier, was told her cancer had recurred, but who, during the video chat, tells her daughter she was right to stay on the show, and that she’ll be proud of her no matter what the result, and then, because the producers are so moved by her story, they give her a Pontiac Sunbird.

12:00 p.m. I beg to have my legs amputated.

12:19 p.m. A rumor spreads like wildfire through the line. Late last night, in a back-channel negotiation, our union leaders were also offered a Pontiac Sunbird. They turned it down. What were they thinking?

12:45 p.m. Some of the replacements are beginning to arrive. I see in their young faces something that I once had, but that I will never regain: optimism.

The president does not want Carl Rove to testify to Congress under oath. It’s widely assumed that this is to avoid risking perjury. But the real reason Carl Rove can’t take an oath is much simpler.

It’s because taking an oath involves touching a bible, and he cannot safely do so without incurring second- or third-degree burns.

Bush, the devout Christian, understands this. And with his well-documented penchant for compassion and empathy, he simply refuses to put another human being in harm’s way to serve his purposes.

The press reports that Bush’s “compromise” would involve Rove speaking off the record to the Congressional committee. But that’s just the broad strokes.

In reality, the president’s compromise spells out in specific language, just how far away from a bible Rove must be at any given time, as well as what kind of protective clothing he is to be given, how often the word “bible” can be used in his presence, and what protocols should be followed if he happens to see a quote from the bible on his way into or out of the building. It’s more or less a Bible Restraining Order.

It’s not that the president doesn’t want the truth to come out, it’s just an extraordinary picture of how far President Bush is willing to go to keep another American safe.

And these kinds of precautions are not new to the Bush Administration. For example, it was widely reported that former Attorney General John Ashcroft held daily prayer meetings at the DOJ. But what’s not well known is that for these prayer meetings, the bible had to literally be teleconferenced in from a safe location. Ashcroft himself couldn’t look at the screen. But an intern from Bob Jones University would look at the screen and then paraphrase the relevant passages. It took a tremendous amount of coordination and expense. But no one disputes it was worth it.

And of course, the biggest hero in all this is Vice President Dick Cheney. Bush has begged him to take precautions against Bible Burns. But this brave man’s man strolls into the White House each and every day, wearing no Haz-Mat suit, no asbestos gloves, no welder’s helmet or anything. The press will tell you about his “heart condition,” but the truth is, Dick Cheney is being slowly burned alive from the inside by the bible across the hall in the Oval Office. An extraordinary sacrifice.

This is not a joke, just something that fell into my lap I must share. As far as I know it is a real, actual memo written by Howard Hughes at what appears to be the height of his OCD. Click on the memo to see the pdf. Here is the text:

OPERATING MEMORANDUM

Subject: Proper operating procedure for Bungalow 1 C Date October 13, 1958

There are certain areas within the Bungalow 1 C area that have been set aside by Johnny Holmes for the storage of my personal things. There are also other areas that have been set aside for future use by Johnny and his people. These designated areas, which Johnny will mark clearly or designate verbally to all concerned, should be avoided by everyone outside of Johnny’s area of operation. I do not want anybody, under any circumstances, no matter what the emergency may be, to touch these areas or go anywhere near them. I do not want anyone to touch the telephone that Johnny uses, nor any of his equipment that he has put away in storage in the Bungalow or any of my things there, or anything connected with my things.

It is extremely important to me that nobody ever, under any circumstances, no matter what the emergency may be, no matter how extreme the emergency, no matter what pressures are put on, no matter how unusual the circumstances may be, goes into any room, closet, cabinet, drawer, or any other area which is either used by Johnny or indicated by Johnny to be reserved by him for my things in connection with my food operation or any other phase of my operation that Johnny takes care of. I want to make sure that nobody opens any doors to any rooms, closets, cabinets, drawers or in any way, touches any portion of these areas.

I say again, no matter how strong the emergency may be, no matter how extreme the emergency may be, no matter how unusual the circumstances may be, no matter how extreme the emergency, it is extremely important to me that nobody – nobody ever, ever goes into any room, closet, cabinet, drawer, bathroom, which is either used by Johnny or indicated by Johnny to be reserved for him, or which is used to store any of the things used in connection with my food, magazines or anything that is used for me.

I say once more, no matter, no matter what the emergency, no matter how extreme the emergency, no matter how unusual the circumstances, it is extremely important to me; I say once more, no matter how extreme the emergency, no matter how unusual the circumstances may be, no matter what may have arisen, it is extremely important to me that nobody ever goes into any room, closet, cabinet, drawer, bathroom or any other area used to store any of the things which are for me – either food, equipment, magazines, paper supplies, Kleenex – no matter what. And, it is also extremely important to me that no matter what the emergency, no matter how unusual the circumstances, no matter what may have come up, no matter what kind of emergency, it is also equally important to me that nobody ever goes into any room or bathroom or any other area which Johnny has indicated is to be reserved to him only, and it is also equally important that nobody ever touches my telephone or piece of furniture or any fixture or anything of that kind which Johnny has indicated is reserved for him.

Instructions should be given for the operators so that they are not allowed to put calls through there into Johnny’s telephone – which is Bung. I C – so that nobody calls there. Sometimes it rings and the third man has to stall around getting through to the operator to have it switched. Something should be done so the other phone is the one that rings – do you have that kind of deal? I don’t want the third man using that phone, and when it rings it’s a temptation for him to pick it up.

I want you to get the third man on the phone and give him all these Instructions and be awfully, awfully sure when you are talking to him, be sure, be certain, be absolutely positive when you are talking to your third man today or any other time, be sure that he is not using Johnny’s phone, that he is not in a room reserved for Johnny and that he is not in a room used to store any of my things. This is awfully, awfully important to me. I want you to be sure, awfully sure, be certain, be positive that nobody goes into any room or cabinet or closet that is used to store any things in connection with my operation. This is equally important to me – it is equally important to me that nobody ever opens any door or opening to any room, cabinet or closet or anything used to store any of my things, even for one-thousandth of an inch for one-thousandth of a second. This applies even when he does not go in, you understand, even if the man does not enter, it is equally important to me that nobody ever opens the door or the drawer even for a fraction of an inch for a fraction of a second – any drawer, closet, or room, you understand – that is used to store any of my things, whether they be stored or just sitting there, because I don’t want the possibility of dust or insects or anything of that nature entering. I want every thing I have indicated here to be followed to the letter.

I want everything I have said here to be clearly gone over, reviewed, and repeated to everyone concerned. Maybe it ought to be written up – typewritten – and given to the men out in Bungalow 1 C. In fact, I think it not only should be written up and handed to them, but they should commit it to memory and repeat it back to you (Kay) so that you are convinced, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they have it down thoroughly.

Until further orders from me, I want nobody ever to set foot in that Bungalow (1 C) or any of those rooms we have anywhere near the Bungalow excepting only Johnny Holmes, and the two waiters – Karl and Charlie – and the number three men and Harvey. This instruction includes Roy, Harris and George.

When you’re up, everyone needs to hear about it • Don’t let anyone tell you where you can and can’t pee • Fuck everything • Every once in a while, you may have to eat some shit • Don’t get near any other cocks, and don’t let them get near you • It doesn’t matter how big you are, just how loud you are • Know the pecking order • They want you, they all want you, you know they want you • Just because nobody’s listening, it’s no reason to shut up • The only thing you have to know about sex is “yes” • Subtlety gets you nowhere • Brains are overrated • Everywhere you look, there’s something edible •

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