​First things first, a big fuck you to all of those for whatever reason decided not to vote in the last election. We are reaping big time on your decision to sit at home and binge episodes of Justified. The promise that is America is vanishing before our eyes, replaced by a neo Nazi collection of racists, homophobes and misogynists. We witness chaos in the streets, ignored a pandemic that has claimed 200,000 lives and sat back as innocent persons of color are shot in the back. It is time to take a long look in the mirror. But how are you doing? Good? Fuck you.
 
We cut property taxes – because we did not think it was fair for us to pay for anyone else’s education. We cut services – because we felt it was up to churches and private organizations job to take care of the mentally unstable and homeless. We cut funding to the arts, high school, college and nationally because such programs are only for high brows and “fags.”
 
We drive gas guzzling autos and trucks because we don’t care the planet is dying. We bully those less fortunate because it is stylishly in season. We rally for hate and squash what was once legal, social descent. We hold up a bible without even a lame attempt to live up to its principles.
 
We can’t follow the simplest instructions and wear a goddamn mask because it infringes on our personal freedom to infect ourselves and others. We ignore science in favor of wishful thinking. We ignore experts and lovingly embrace conspiracies. 
 
“Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more.”
 
Perhaps it’s too late, but the least we can do is get off our asses and try. We can donate to the candidates we believe in and, if we can’t donate, we can campaign. We talk to an ass-wipe that sat out the last election and convince him that now is not a good time for apathetic indifference.  Don’t do it for yourself, you’re a lost cause. Do it for the children you insist on continuing to bring into the world.
 
So, get off your fat ass and do something that is not just for yourself. At the very least, vote.
 

​It was a fateful Christmas Evening in 1988, I had stopped by offices of John Davis Productions located on the 22nd and 23rd floor of the state-of-the-art office tower located in middle of the Century City. The sparsely populated offices smelled of construction, fresh paint and yes, dare I say it, terrorism. I was to meet Bettina Viviano and Michael J. Nathanson ((there’s another producer named Michael Nathanson who likes hookers, so it is very important not to forget the initial), in the conference room of the 23rd floor to discuss my option on the screenplay Yardboy. Never did I realize that what had started out as 1st payment and harmless story meeting would turn into an act of heist masquerading as an act of global terrorism.
 
Okay, maybe I have my dates and events a little mixed up. But it was definitely the same building located in Century City. I’m sure of that much. And maybe, by the time I was there, they had renamed it the giant of glass and steel Fox Tower, but the fundamental elements of the story were none the less the same. I needed to use the Xerox machine and, by God, come hell or highwater, shoes or no shoes, weapon or no weapon, I was going to make some copies.
 
Hoping they had the next big project for young Macauley Culkin, the optioning producers met me at promptly 1pm, and before settling down to lunch, we signed all contracts giving them exclusive rights to pedal Yardboy for one year.  
 
Lunch was casual, a choice of catered sandwiches from a nearby deli. We got down to the notes of the story and wrapped up promptly in two hours. Before leaving, I nonchalantly asked if I could use the copy machine for the copy of my contracts and a charming assistance escorted me to the midsized room.
 
For obvious reasons, copy machines at production companies have strict procedures. Back then, a key was required as well as signing off so that scripts, or other important documents, didn’t fall into the wrong hands. Illegal use of a copier is serious business. I know a guy who spent the night in jail for illegally using the copy machines at Warner Brothers. Maybe someday, I will tell you about him.
 
I made my copies without incident, slid them into my briefcase and drove my rental car back to Pasadena where I was staying with friends.
 
I know. I know. You were hoping for something a bit more dramatic. Something where I arrive to find the copier had been tampered with and the following scenario ensues: 
 

Nope. Sorry to disappoint. However, the parking fee to get out of the tower was a bit steep and the winter traffic was heavy on the drive back to Pasadena. But other than that...
 

​When crafting a modern classic, it is imperative that you seek out what has worked before and capitalize. I am no slouch in the “capitalizing” department, so I went to who I considered the masters of this special craft, Abbot and Costello and The Three Stooges. For example, who would have dreamed that a teaming of three famous knuckleheads and the son of a Greek God? Of course, I am referring to the modern masterpiece, Three Stooges meet Hercules. However, you are not always guaranteed success when you attempt such a tried and true formula. One need no go further than the ill-timed Laurel and Hardy meet the Mummy, starring none other than Balki himself, Bronson Pinchot, or the celebrity pairings of the cast of Scooby Doo and practically everybody to learn that such pairings do not always work. No, you are playing with the fire of the gods and it is imperative that you tread carefully.
 
So, where did we leave off last week. I’ve just moved down to Hermosa Beach, I’ve barely had time to unpack my belongings and I have my first assignment, come up with an idea for identical twin/tween superstars. I don’t know about you but when I am faced with such a daunting task, I may first require the aid of a stiff drink or the calming effects of a certain botanical. No such luck, the cupboards were literally bare. At least I had the aid of a pack of Marlboro “apples and that should get through at least two ideas.
 
Then it hit me link a ton of bricks. I must go way back and literally consult the masters. The answer would be there. My answer was in the old The Patty Duke Show. Patty and Kathy, mistaken identity and always fighting over the same boy. Why it was practically an American stable of television teen fiction. But it still needed a twist as modern Hollywood has long since forgotten the virtues of classic television of Patty Duke. But I was determined. All I needed was that special something to make it truly special. What if the cute tween boy was from outer space, cast adrift much like Spielberg’s poor, withered extraterrestrial and the two girls are his only hope of getting home.  
 
I furiously wrote down my pitch, one page, all three acts and faxed it over. I was starving and headed out a place in Redondo where the Duke himself, John Wayne, used to stop for eggs. When I got back, I had a message. The partners at Green Epstein loved the pitch and were passing it along. Now, all I had to do was wait…and maybe do some grocery shopping.
 
What? They passed? Did those little twin crotch droppings even know what they were passing on? Turned out it wasn’t me or my potentially award-winning synopsis. The deal had already been made and the powers that be behind the twins had already decided it was time to move on. But, hey, if you’ve read my blog, you know it’s not like this sort of thing hasn’t happened before. 
 
It’s not like there won’t be other prepubescent twins that will need stories, right?  
 
Here endeth this week’s blog post.
 

And, no, we are not talking about the precedent setting court case of the same name.

I'm referring to those delightful twin imps, stars of the hit sitcom, Full House, and their memorable direct to video series Mary Kate and Ashley at the Beach, Mary Kate and Ashley in the Country, Mary Kate and Ashley in Outer Space and of course, my favorite, Mary Kate and Ashley’s Parents, Agents and Publicists Cash In By Producing a Series of Direct to Video Doorstops. To say these little productions were a hit would be an understatement. They sold over a million units, ranking right up there with such children classics as Disney Sing-a-longs, Thomas the Tank Engine and, Where in the World Did Carmen Sandiego Put My Car Keys. Most of the early videos were produced by my friends at a company called Green/Epstein Productions, so welcome to this week’s blog.
 
I had been in Los Angeles precisely one day when I decided to drop in on the offices of G/E. They had purchased a house in the North Hollywood hills, a small walking distance to the restaurants and shops of Ventura Blvd and made the comfortable abode their office. The principles owned property in Santa Barbara but lived in the house during the week in order to conduct that business we call show. I found the entire office in a complete dizzy. Their principle cash cow, more precisely human twins, were growing up and tired of the pubescent drivel they had been churning out. It was time now to make the move to a motion pictures. In the words of Nora Desmond (from Thomas the Steam Engine attends Catechism): “I was big! It was the pictures that got small.” 
 
Their first demand was a title without the words “at the.” They were quicky becoming tweens and needed more mature material, something along the lines of Mary Kate and Ashley meet Frankenstein. To make matters worse, if G/E could not find a suitable venue for their mature new storytelling, these adorable, post pubescent guttersnipes would go somewhere else.
 
Green Epstein Productions were pioneers in network television. Do you happened to remember the ABC Monday Night Made for TV Movie? Most likely not, but for those of us that do, collectively they were really something. That little piece of programming gave us such jewels as Spielberg’s Duel and The Night Stalker by producer Dan Curtis. There were countless others, but both partners were in on the bottom floor and they were very much respected in the business. Later work included Stephen King’s It and a live production of On Golden Pond with Julie Andrews and Christopher Plummer. One of my first big options with the company was on a little script I had wrote called My Pet Dinosaur. Their story sessions were always helpful, and I genuinely liked the people, the office and their work. 
 
When I say I had been in Los Angeles, Hermosa Beach precisely, one day, I meant a literal and not figurative one. I had not even unpacked my clothes, computer or set up my office in my little house. I stayed at the home office in North Hollywood long enough to get what were becoming familiar marching orders. Come up with some story ideas to pitch and fast, the twins are about to jump ship! By this time, it was midafternoon, and I made the four-hour drive (only a slight exaggeration) back to Hermosa Beach. Once I arrived, I unpacked my HP desktop, set up a makeshift office in the corner of the living room/dining room. I was no Shane Black, but I would give my all to my friends in North Hollywood. I would create an exciting new story for the prepubescent Mary Kate and Ashley, a story too good to refuse.  
 

to be continued