Cameo appearance

Here’s the dilemma I find myself in every October.

It just so happens the wife’s birthday and our wedding anniversary fall four short shopping days apart. And as I’ve been reminded many times, under no circumstances will one gift stretch across those four days to cover both occasions.

So because I love my bride as much as I do, and don't want to get docked marriage points, I spend a great deal of time and careful thought deciding what would be the perfect presents to get her. Usually they’re very specific gifts for each event. However this year, I had an idea for a gift for both that would be the same, but different.

”Mom! Dad’s talking in riddles again!” Fine. I’ll explain.

Because I know you commit each and every fabulous post on here to memory, you may reacall reading about the wife and I recently bingeing The Sopranos twice in a row, back to back. And besides the headliners, she has a couple characters she really likes.

One is Johnny “Sack” Sacrimoni, underboss of the Lupertazzi crime family, elegantly played by Vincent Curatola.

The other is Ralphie Cifaretto, member of the DiMeo crime family, viciously played by Joey “Pants” Pantoliano.

Because the wife and I had gone hard down The Sopranos rabbit hole, watching all the YouTube clips, listening to all the episodes of the Talking Sopranos podcast, reading all of creator David Chase’s interviews about that remarkably unsatisfying series ending, I thought a Sopranos-related gift would be in order.

Thanks to my son, young Mr. Spielberg, I'd been the recipient of a Cameo.com video for one my birthdays a while back. For those of you unfamiliar with Cameo, it’s a site where, for a fee, the actors, comedians, musicians, politicians and more celebrities ranging from A to D list will make a short video to give as a gift for whatever occasion you choose. If you're willing to pony up more, they'll even do a live call with you.

I decided to see who was available from The Sopranos, and come to find out Vince and Joey Pants were both on Cameo. I gave them each a short write up about my wife, told them what the occasion was and generally what I'd like them to say.

A hit list if you will. See what I did there?

Cameo says to give the talent five to seven days to get a video back to you, but both Vincent and Joey had the videos back to me within a couple hours. And both gentlemen were generous with their time and messages, going more than four times the average video length.

Needless to say, the wife was thrilled and surprised and loved both videos.

So if you're looking for a gift that's a little more personal and off the beaten path, I highly recommend perusing Cameo and checking it out. With celebrities ranginng from Snoop Dogg to Kevin Pollak to Richard Schiff to Paula Poundstone to NOT Tom Cruise, there's something for just about everyone.

And should your tastes run a little more to the marketing side, and you're willing to pay for a creative director/copywriter to record a short video for a loved one, I'm pretty sure that can be arranged too.

One for Father's Day

They don't look like this anymore. I don't know about the dog. He might if he's still around.

The thing about being a parent is that, as time goes on, I begin to realize all the clichés come true. How fast it goes. How fleeting it is. How one day they're riding tricycles, and the next they' re driving my car (with the same lead foot they must've inherited from their mother). One minute I'm driving them to kindergarten, the next they're off to college.

Father's Day isn't the only time I ponder these thoughts, but it hits a little harder today for some reason.

Here's the thing: I won the kid lottery. I look around at some of our friends' kids - who shall go nameless - and all I can think about is how fast I would've left them on the steps at the firehouse. Don't look so surprised. Think about some of your friends' kids and tell me I'm wrong.

I have two beautiful, smart, funny kids who still kiss their parents goodnight no matter what time they get home. We tell each other how much we love each other all the time. Their pain is my pain, and their joy is my joy. Their successes are my pride, and their failures are my heartache. There's nothing in the world I wouldn't do for them, with the possible exception of loaning them my American Express card.

Bill Murray put it best in Lost In Translation: "It's the most terrifying day of your life the day the first one is born. Your life, as you know it, is gone, never to return. But they learn how to walk and they learn how to talk, and you want to be with them. And they turn out to be the most delightful people you'll ever meet in your life."

Anyway, the days' activities will be getting under way any minute. I know they'll be giving me cards and a few gifts today (new Stephen King book, hello?), and I have a sneaking suspicion the family's going to hijack me to my favorite breakfast place (it's the Coffee Cup Cafe in case you get the urge to treat me sometime).

Whatever they have in store for me this Father's Day, I want them to know the very best gift they can give me, the one I'll never get tired of, the one I want most, the one I'll always want, is more time with them.

So maybe take the tie back.

Flying with your eyes closed

I was at lunch with one old and one new friend yesterday, and one of the topics that came up was the ability to sleep on planes.

Yet another skill I can add to the list of ones I don't have, along with card counting, lion taming and crowd estimating.

It's an eclectic list.

I have nothing but admiration for people who can do it. It must be nice to fall asleep as the plane is taking off in L.A., and open your eyes just as you're landing in New York.

Of course then you don't get to pick out all the hidden nuclear missile silos in the middle of the country (Here's a hint: the big circles with no crops around them).

My wife is blessed, and not just by being married to me. She has the talent, skill and God-given ability to close her eyes and sleep no matter where she is. When we fly places, she's literally out before the plane pulls out of the gate. Me? I keep busy making sure the in-flight entertainment has Comedy Central and I have enough magazines to get me across country.

On some flights, I can manage to get as far as drowsy. But I just can't go all the way. Which reminds me of something my high school girlfriend used to tell me.

Anyway, kudos to those of you who can dream of clouds while your head's in them. I wish I could do it.

If we're ever flying together and I have the window seat, I'll try not to wake you when I have to crawl over you to get to the bathroom.

And if I do, I'll just say you were dreaming.

Hello I must be going

I don't usually drop names. Don't get me wrong, I could. I could drop a lot of them ok? I was born and raised in L.A. I'm a Hollywood brat. I know people.

And my people know people.

But because of a film I saw, I am going to drop one: Groucho Marx.

From the minute I first saw Night At The Opera I was hooked on the Marx Bros. It won't come as a surprise to anyone who knows me that the brother I related to most was Groucho. Cynical, sarcastic, biting, brilliant, a ladies man.

When I was growing up, the Marx Bros. films were having a resurgence. There were festivals, retrospects, screenings of long lost footage. My friend David Weitz and I used to slather on the black moustache and eyebrows, slip into the cut away tuxedo jackets and impersonate Groucho at the festivals they used to have at the Universal Amphitheater, back when it was a real amphitheater (look it up). There was also a theater on La Cienega and Waring Avenue called the Ciné Cienega that played Marx Bros. films all the time. David and I would show up there too.

One day, we had the bright idea that we wanted to meet Groucho. So we got in my car - a 1965 Plymouth Fury, the first and last American car I'll ever own (don't get me started) - and drove up to Sunset Blvd. Back then, there was a guy on every corner selling "Maps To The Stars Homes". We bought one and found out where Groucho's house was in Trousdale Estates.

As I write about it now, I realize it reads kind of stalker-esque. It wasn't. Well, maybe it was. But a different time you know?

There used to be a costume shop on Melrose next to Paramount Studios. David and I decided to buy an old cutaway coat like Groucho wore in the movies and give it to him as a gift. It never occurred to us he probably had several of them gathering dust already.

The first attempt didn't go well. We drove up to Trousdale Estates, sat in the car awhile, then finally found the courage to knock on Groucho's door.

His assistant and companion Erin Fleming answered.

We told her we were huge Marx Bros. fans, and we had a gift for Groucho. She thought it was sweet.

From behind her, we heard an elderly but recognizable voice say, "Who is it?" Erin said, "It's two of your fans and they want to give you a gift." To which Groucho replied, "Tell them to go away and never darken my doorway again."

Not exactly the welcome we expected.

Erin told us to come back the next day when Groucho would be in a better mood, and she'd get us in to meet him. So we did. And she did.

David and I wound up having lunch with Groucho. We talked about everything from the movies, to the Israeli athletes who'd been killed by terrorists, to Sandy Koufax. The real life Groucho spoke slower and softer than the one in the movies, but the brilliant mind was working just as fast.

Many times after that first meeting, Erin invited me up to the house. She even had me watch Groucho a few times when she'd have to go out.

When another Groucho fan, Steve Stoliar, organized the Committee to Re-release Animal Crackers (CRAC) - a Marx Bros. film that hadn't been seen in thirty years - and staged a protest at UCLA, Groucho wrote a note excusing me from my theater class to be there (Groucho included a copy of the letter in his book The Grouchophile). And when Universal finally re-released it, Erin had the studio hire David and I to impersonate him at the premiere.

She also had us impersonate him and greet arriving celebrities at a live performance she'd convinced him to do, An Evening with Groucho at the Dorothy Chandler Pavillion (I still remember David opening the car door for George Burns. As Burns was getting out he said, "That's very nice of you." David said, "Certainly. Age before beauty." Burns said, "You're not kidding."). Thanks to Erin, we were also at the pre-release party for the soundtrack of the show at the Bistro in Beverly Hills (star-studded affair. Nicest celebrity: Tommy Smothers. Biggest jerk: Carroll O'Connor). She also had us front and center in the audience, in full costume, when Groucho appeared on the Merv Griffin show.

To say the least it was a heady time.

After Groucho died, I lost touch with Erin. I know she went through hard times, with accusations of being a golddigger and abusive to Groucho.

These accusations came from Groucho's son Arthur, who although an author and playwright, primarily made a career of being Groucho's son.

The many times I saw them together, at the house and at studio events, I never saw any indication that any of Arthur's accusations about Erin were true.

Nevertheless, Arthur sued Erin for all the money Groucho had paid her, and the house he'd bought her, and eventually bankrupted her with attorney fees and debt. Sadly she wound up committing suicide years after Groucho was gone.

I'm blessed to have had the chance to meet one of my heroes. It could never happen today, certainly not the way it did then.

Although if anyone has Springsteen's address, I have this guitar I'd like to give him.