February 24, 2011
(Year Six of Robb’s Illustrious Career)
In my day, there was an old saying in Hollywood (or parts of it anyway): You haven’t made it in this business until Kenny S____ calls you a “c**ksucker.” Well, I guess that means I almost made it in Hollywood.
Let me back up for a minute. Read the rest of this entry »
January 25, 2011
Had a dream the other night: I found myself back in Hampton, Virginia, where I went to high school. This is 2,700 miles away from where I am today. Even in the dream I had no idea how or why I was there. I found myself moving through the old hang-outs and streets. Everything was different – and I was infuriated by this. Completely infuriated.
This woke me up, all clenched and tight. My heart was racing and I was really enraged for a few minutes. Then the bizarre nature of this reaction occurred to me. Why would I care? I haven’t stepped foot in Virginia in 23 years. I shook my head and went back to sleep.
I wonder what that was about…
November 29, 2010
Have you ever written a letter you knew you would never send?
August 31, 2010
Have you ever heard someone’s cry for help?
December 9, 2009
Do you have a crappy boss?
November 23, 2009
(Years Three/Four of Robb’s Illustrious Career)
My third/fourth year in the business I worked for this show-runner who was a real piece of work. He was the most hated figure I’ve ever worked for. He made The Weasel look like a normal, well-adjusted human being. From the writers room to the production office to the stage, everybody hated him.
This guy was a harsh dictator. I’ve never seen anybody better at shutting down creativity in a room. Writers pitching jokes or brainstorming ideas would be cut off and dismissed mid-sentence, mid-pitch. Nice. The in-joke in the writers room was that if he was looking for an integer between 2 and 4 and you pitched 3, you would get shot down.
Strangely, this guy was also helpless. He couldn’t do anything by himself. He had no personal assistant, so we were ALL his personal assistant. I was personally called by the guy on a weekend and compelled to help him out with something personal. Let me repeat, I was NOT his personal assistant. My son was an infant at the time, but apparently the guy didn’t think I had anything more important to do on a Sunday morning than get in the car and go help him out. The in-joke in the production office was that you might get a call from the guy in the toilet demanding that you come help him with the paperwork.
One day Mr. Sunday Morning said his computer monitor “flickered.” Read the rest of this entry »