A year ago…

Posted on February 1, 2013 by

Yesterday… I was standing outside of a breakfast spot in Burbank California just before noon, which is (theoretically) late for a breakfast on a Tuesday. Ironically, with the amount of time I had been up, it could have been time for dinner. So let me backtrack – 

6 days earlier I’d sat down with David Nutter (pilot director) amongst others for my first Arrow audition. When I left, I called my agent and said, You know… I think I just booked this pilot. Even though that’s impossible. There are still deals to be made and studio tests and network tests and sleepless nights to come… There were. The studio test was Friday. It went seamlessly. David Nutter brought me in for a private working session on Saturday (Saturday!!) and the network test was Monday; it, also, went tremendously. When David left the network test he gave me a thumbs up and said, See you in Vancouver!… There was just one obstacle: Every decision at this network ultimately goes through one individual who might as well have been the Wizard of Oz to me. He wouldn’t see the tape until tomorrow morning.

I retreated to a local bar in Studio City with my girlfriend and saturated my cerebrum with basketball (and lager). Couldn’t focus. We went back home and watched a particularly entertaining Oklahoma City / Clippers (I remember the teams!…) matchup replete with wine. (Couldn’t focus.) She went to bed. I inexplicably watched the entire Back To The Future trilogy. Couldn’t focus. Luckily… I had to be on set at 6 am for Private Practice. It was a lovely scene – one of many – between Amy Brenneman and I. We wrapped around 9:30 and I headed towards Burbank for a prosthetic fitting; poor Scott the Paramedic was about to be beaten up intervening in a domestic dispute. Good guy, that Scott the Paramedic. Once done I circled back to the breakfast spot that began the essay and ends the story. 

Just after noon (like… 12:01) my manager and my agent did the joint call. The joint call is good. Arrow! 

So what did I do? I exhaled, thanked them, drove home and took a three hour nap.

A year ago yesterday. Time flies.

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Anatomy of a rumor.

Posted on January 15, 2013 by
It’s interesting how the Internet works. I don’t consider myself an overly private individual. If anything, I tend to share a little bit too much, only to find myself circling back later with a smidgen of regret.
 
The manual for how to deal with the public having (even a vague) interest in your personal life doesn’t exist because it can either be a source of great agitation (think, Sean Penn), or the materialistic spark that makes you feel validated (think anyone with the last name Kardashian). And… of course, there can be a middle ground. All of this to say, I’m still trying to figure out where my line is.
 
How do I want people to perceive me in social media? Should I just be an accurate representation of myself? Or should I blur the line between who I am and who I play on television? (Incidentally, I think Max Greenfield’s  twitter is an excellent example of the latter choice.) These are questions that I wrestle with. For the time being, I’ve settled into what I think is the best option for me: Be myself. Even then, you need to turn the volume down a little. For example, this Fall I was vaguely critical of Arrow’s Canadian broadcaster because the time slot of the show kept being switched. I shouldn’t have done that. I was right… but I shouldn’t have vocalized my feelings in a public forum without all the facts.
 
The thing with sharing information about yourself that really startles me is how much of it is gathered by the media, compared to how much is volunteered by the individual. When you see items appear on your favorite websites or in your favorite magazines it’s almost always the result of a publicist or the individual themselves taking that information to the publication, not the other way around… Which in turn means that when an individual feigns annoyance about this reporting they’re (almost always) totally full of shit.
 
See? Interesting.
 
At some point last week my manager let me know that a newspaper was going to write a story about the, umm, itinerary of my holiday trip. The story was poorly compiled and (mostly) inaccurate. So now I’m faced with a dilemma:
 
Do I correct the half-right (and again… poorly compiled) story since that effectively means I’d be confirming something I had no intention of publicly sharing? Or do I go to someone that I trust and give them the story since it’s going to come out anyway?
 
The latter seemed like the right choice.
 
These aren’t actual problems, they’re more like interesting life-layers that didn’t exist for me until recently. Here’s to hoping I manage them well.
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Play it again…

Posted on January 14, 2013 by

I used to have a blog. And now I have a blog again.

Feel free to peruse these posts (written until somewhere in late 2011). There are many more than what you see here, but I’m repurposing them into something else. (Details to follow.)

When I was at the Golden Globes last night, I remembered how much I enjoy writing. Does the title of this blog make sense anymore? I don’t know. But that’s not the point. The point is writing. 

So here we are. I will write, again. It feels great!

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100 Days and a Finale.

Posted on November 29, 2011 by

This past February, right as Vampire Diaries was about to debut and in the middle of filming Justice For Natalee Holloway, I set a goal to work 100 days in 2011. That’d be 100 days on a set, doing post-production work, table reads, wardrobe fittings and screen tests. Honestly, I could have fudged the numbers a little bit if I’d included interviews and publicity stuff, but… that was the criteria. In all likelihood, I’m going to fall short. Technically.

Right now I’m at 83 with approximately 15 working days left in the year. My guess is I’ll land at 90. The only way to define this as a failure is if I rely solely on an arbitrary number I put forward from a seedy motel room in Louisiana. (We were filming at a shitty motel, on purpose.) Otherwise, this has been a wonderful year in every single possible way.

Which brings me to this Sunday’s Hung finale. Sunday won’t be my last time on television this year (New Girl!!), but it will symbolically wrap up 2011.

It started with me shooting poor Caroline in the face and it’ll end with… (I can’t actually say.) I also have the distinct pleasure of live tweeting the finale in conjunction with HBO. Drop by… ask some questions… let me know what you think. Bye for now.

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Sex scenes.

Posted on October 26, 2011 by

Note: This was originally published on August 2nd of this year. 3 months later, it seems like I should repost because it’s a question I’m getting all the time: “Do you enjoy sex scenes?” I certainly do. 

Quick addendum: Sex scenes do not materialize out of nowhere. On a professional television show you sign a separate waiver before any nudity. The set is “closed” which still leaves 5 – 15 people, but whatever. The idea that actors are bullied into these scenes is preposterous.

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When actors are asked whether or not they like sex scenes, the prevailing answer seems to fall somewhere between “no” and “they’re just sorta awkward”.

Really?

Here’s the how the answer should go: Sex scenes are tremendous. Exceptional even. For starters, people are in various states of undress. That’s neat. Second, you get to smooch another person and then simulate intercourse. For guys, like myself, you get to wear a “cock-sock”, which wallops you right upside the head with a heavy dose of humility. Why? Because it might be the most ridiculous, embarrassing apparatus a human being has ever worn. It’s like the putrid sweater your grandmother insisted you wear for a family holiday, only many thousand times worse. In short (no pun intended), you can’t help but laugh at yourself. (Always important.) Then there’s the broader element of being paid to pretend you’re fornicating. Do you think the gentleman laying fresh pavement in the middle of the summer wants to hear about you fretting over the guy operating the boom mic catching a glimpse of your scrotum? Me thinks not. There may be specific instances where the actor doesn’t totally mesh with their scene partner, but that’s sort of like complaining about the side dish accompanying your 14 ounce Kobe steak. When Hung premieres this fall, people will ask me about sex scenes; I will tell them, what I’m telling you: They couldn’t possibly be more enjoyable.

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The 8th Annual.

Posted on October 19, 2011 by

Heading east tomorrow morning for the 8th Annual ‘Cuse Road Trip. A road trip to Syracuse sounds peculiar, right? Not so. Road trips – any trips, really – are what you make of them. If you head to Augusta for The Masters with 3 buddies who spend all weekend texting their wives, that’d be awful. The ‘Cuse is a great trip because Tim (co-founder, co-captain, co-conspirator) and I embrace the quirks of Syracuse and meld them into tradition.

5 am – That’s when we leave. That’s when people who are serious about road trips leave.

Bob Evans, Batavia, NY – For the past seven years, Peggy has greeted us at the door and Beth has been our waitress. The food at Bob Evans isn’t so much bad (and it is bad) as it is comical. They don’t have cream, they have creamer. We’re talking meals that are easily enough calories for a long weekends worth of consumption for under eight bucks. AMERICA!

The Econolodge – Our first trip in 2004 was during Homecoming weekend (as is this one) and the only hotel available was the ECO-lodge. Is it in a good part of town? No. Do nefarious things take place in the parking lot? Of course. Are the rooms well-designed? Uh-uh. They’re peculiar. Do they offer free toiletries, muffins, coffee and various breakfast treats. They sure do! And does the owner make an effort to call Tim every year and wish him a Merry Christmas because we’re valued customers? He does. (True story.)

Syracuse Football – They’re 1-6 during our trips, including one year when we saw a basketball game. (The basketball team was heavily favoured, proving, almost irrefutably, that we’re a direct jinx on the universities athletic programs. Maybe we should start supporting water polo just to see if we could cause a near-fatal drowning.) 1-6 is terrible. Last year the team showed signs of life before we rolled in for a Saturday night game. The Carrier Dome (more on it in a minute) was packed and lively. First play of the game, ‘Cuse had a wide-receiver streaking down the sideline. He was open. The quarterback missed him… We knew immediately. (They got destroyed.) This year it’s a Friday night matchup against 15th ranked West Virginia on ESPN. Maybe it’s our year?? Probably not, but maybe.

The Carrier Dome – Oddly located, poorly lit, terrible field turf, $5 beers… It’s heavenly. Tim upped his game big time this year by purchasing season seats in the first row for something like $180 bucks. I find this endlessly entertaining. Pretty sure they come with little cushions. Don’t hate everybody… Don’t hate.

Our Local Bar – Always the same spot. Always the same spot at the bar. Always the same music. Beer and liquor are so inexpensive that Tim and I once had this exchange: Me, What could we get for a sixty dollar tab here? Tim, We’d never survive. Tim is correct.

Once we get to decade mark we’re going to have to introduce some next level shit. Themed Clothing? A third or fourth member? A field pass? We don’t know… Here’s what we do know: The fundamental elements of this trip outlined above will never, ever change. Tradition is what makes a weekend, everything else is secondary.

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LA Kings Home Opener.

Posted on October 19, 2011 by

Hello. This post was originally published on October 12, 2010. All the things I wrote remain true. Originally, I was going to write a new post about the feelings of familiarity I’ve had for the past several weeks. It’s coming. In the interim… check out this 1,000 word missive from back when I wrote 1,000 word missives. For clarities sake, last night was the 2011 Kings home opener. Our second as season seat holders.

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Does this mean I really, really live here now? Settling in LA has been a process. (Don’t believe me? Kindly peruse the 300,000 words of content on this webblesite.) However you define an arrival to a new place, I think we can all agree that there is a difference between living in a city, and living in a city. I’ll be the first to say: I Love LA. I really do. I love the weather; I love the people; I love watching sports in the morning; I love the tourists that walk along Hollywood Boulevard; I love the enthusiasm for cinema and all facets of entertainment; I love running through the Hollywood Hills and trying to decipher who’s having a party at their house and who’s shooting a porno; I love Dodger Stadium; I love stupid, ridiculous, excessive Hollywood hot-spots; I love the dive bars littered throughout the city with $3 draft and free pour whiskey; I love the WEATHER; I love the stores specifically dedicated to sneakers; I love sneakers; I love the inclusionary nature of Hollywood residents (be who you want to be, as enthusiastically as you want…); I love my friends and the similar nature of our professional / personal goals; I love walking Louis The Dog in Runyon Canyon until he lays on the floor, passes out and starts to twitch. I love it here.

And tonight, I loved the LA Kings Home Opener. My cousin Robbie and I have startling seats four rows off the ice in the middle of the Kings offensive zone for the 1st and 3rd period. These seats cost roughly 1/85th of what the Maple Leafs would charge. The Kings fans are raucous, inappropriate, passionate and, most importantly, ready for a winner. The organization has bent over backwards to placate Rob and I from the moment we hopped on board last May.

Some people will think the Kings seats only represent sports. Not quite. First, this is about family. Our grandfather was on the board of directors for the Maple Leafs during the 1960′s. Both of our fathers have entertained us with stories about Saturday nights at the Gardens when, you know, the Leafs weren’t owned by a monolithic corporation that seems hell-bent on destroying everything good about sports. $19 beer anyone? (There isn’t enough hyperbole, sometimes.) Half a century later, it’s time for two Amell boys to carry on a tradition. Different city, different team, same idea.

And second? Well, if you don’t understand following a team from (arguably) the two best seats in the house, through the ebb and flow of a regular season, into the greatest playoff tournament in professional sports, with a 20 year old kid from London, Ontario doubling as the teams best player… I don’t know what to tell you. Go Kings.

EDIT: I couldn’t let this post drift away without some leftover game thoughts.

  • Nik Antropov, from 8 feet away, on skates, looks like he should have some type of electrical cable sticking out his neck.
  • The Kings offensive zone is directly infront of us for the 1st, 3rd, Overtime and Shootout. So what’d we do in the 2nd period? We went up to the ICM luxury suite for free beer like a couple of assholes. There’s no guarantee that we’ll do this every game. Conversely, there’s not NOT a guarantee.
  • During a fairly stagnant 1st period for the Kings offense, two guys rode the linesmen so hard that he gave our section an eff-you wink. Seriously. What’d they say to garner a reaction? I’ll paraphrase: Shove the puck in your (expletive) ref! / You’re missing a good game… You (expletive)! / This isn’t the NBA, you (expletive)! Can you imagine that sort of chatter in the Air Canada Centre? How quickly would the ushers throw these people out? This digs to a larger point about the juxtaposition between American and Canadian sports fans: Boisterous and passionate seems to be the default position of the former. Before the game, I could barely spot anyone that wasn’t wearing some sort of Kings paraphernalia. (Count me among the minority. I’ve been searching high and low for an old-school Kings hat with no success. Going to find it before Friday. Dammit.) The latter part of this point needs it own bullet…
  • Kings fans are a blue collar group. This seems counterintuitive, I know. After all, the team plays 20 minutes from Hollywood and the players walked a purple carpet before the game. The Lakers dominate the scene in LA, USC / UCLA take care of the football appetite, The Clippers cover masochists and racists and The Dodgers dominate the Hispanic community. The Kings? Well, they’ve got every transplanted Canadian, every film crew member that grew up in the Northeast as a hockey fan and a few Hollywood big-wigs (Jerry Bruckheimer has an on-ice luxury suite, which should be impossible). It all adds up to a formidable hockey crowd. Last night, we were loud. The playoff game last spring against the Canucks was one of the loudest crowds I’ve ever been a part of.
  • Check out this friggin roster! Anze Kopitar (23), Brayden Schenn (19), Dustin Brown (25), Wayne Simmonds (22), Drew Doughty (20), Jack Johnson (23) and Jonathan Quick (24).
  • 12 Canadians on the roster not counting Anze Kopitar who took 19 stitches on the face in the opener against Vancouver and potted a spectacular goal in the shootout. We’re making him honorary #13.
  • In the process of researching this post, I stumbled on Anze’s Twitter Account. A thousand times, yes!

  • The Kings emerge from a castle door before the start of each period. The castle door has fake flames on each side of it, with a dash of fake smoke and red-ish floor lighting. It’s entirely ridiculous. Boy, do I enjoy it!
  • Finally… I found some footage of the Kings taking the ice before Game 6 against the Canucks last spring. Robbie and I were there. This sold us.
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