my life

My thoughts on BBQ

Too many times, people look for the word “authentic” in things.

They’re not looking for something that is authentic, just something that says it’s authentic, because really, if something was genuinely authentic, would it need to advertise itself as such?

Take for example, BBQ.

There are many places in Los Angeles that claim to have authentic “southern-style” BBQ.

If you’re reading this and you’re from the south or you’ve ever visited the south for any extended amount of time, your laugh of derision is well-justified.

Which isn’t to say that there is no good BBQ in Los Angeles. It’s just different.

It accepts that it’s different, it doesn’t try to compete with the authentic. It does its own thing. It’s comfortable with that.

And that works.

Maybe it will never win as many awards or get as much recognition as the truly authentic, but then again, that’s not really the point, is it?

But I do love pretzels.

My offer to Conan O’Brien

Mr. O’Brien,

Much has been said about your current situation with NBC. Along with this comes speculation about what you will do next.

I have seen it estimated that even if you do sign a deal with a rival network, it will take anywhere from a year to 18 months before you are back on the air.

In TV Land, that’s a very long time and the public can be fickle. Right now it’s dangerous for you to laze about in your gold-plated mansion or one of your many luxurious yachts, frittering away the collected goodwill of the nation.

You have received many offers from various corners of the entertainment world, you even have a contest where your fans can vote on which one you should accept.

Let’s be honest. Most of these are silly. People making joke offers.

You’re a comedy writer. You should be writing comedy. Not acting in a pornographic film.

So here’s a legitimate offer: write for the most pro-active, paradigmatic newsletter the world has ever seen: Skizzleplex.

Now, I know you’re used to being treated like a big cheese, but you won’t get any special treatment here. I’m giving you the same deal I give my friends. Write a comedy piece, it can be about anything. I’ll run it. Depending on how it turns out, maybe you can do another one. The possibilities are limitless.

I think this could be the thing that gets your career back on track, I really do.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Eric Filipkowski

I’m a hipster!

IMG_0999

Hey, so here’s the deal.

I made a ‘zine. I’m only using that word because to describe it as anything else would be over-selling it.

If you want to read it, send an email to efilipkowski at yahoo dot com and I’ll email you a pdf file. And if you’re so inclined, give me your snail mail address and I will send it to you like that.

You’re probably wondering why I don’t just put it up here, but it’s honestly too silly and quick to consume in any way other than having it laid out in front of you and read all at once.

And this way, if you’re taking a poop while you read it and you run out of tp, you’re still in business.

Depending how this goes over, I might do some more. So who knows.

Actor’s Corner – 9/15/2009

eric sports

I’m gonna try and keep this low-key, because I could probably get in trouble if this got out, but I wanted to share a little behind-the-scenes, Hollywood stuff with you guys, out there languishing at your 9 to 5 jobs in the midwest.

It’s rare you get to see the curtain come down and reveal all the hard work that goes into making the magic, so this should be quite a treat.

Basically, back in August, some producers from Warner Bros. approached my people with an intriguing offer. Apparently, Daniel Radcliffe had been giving them some trouble with negotiations for the final two films and so they entertained the idea of casting a new actor in the role of Harry Potter.

Naturally, I was on the top of their list and so they had me come in and get all dressed up in the outfit and everything and do a screen test.

I think you’re going to be blown away. I’m normally a fairly modest person, but this is work I am really, really proud of.

Unfortunately, it turns out that they were just using me. They brought ol’ Danny Boy this footage, he shit his pants when he saw my performance and signed on the dotted line and was back in his wizard get-up before he could say, “I’ve singularly been outclassed by the greatest dramatic actor of our generation!”

Anyway, here it is, my part starts around the 20 second mark and remember, keep this under your (wizard) hats!

My $50,000,000 lawsuit

marco polo

“Marco!”

“Polo!”

“Marco!”

“Polo!”

And on and on it went. Their high-pitched voices like nails on a chalkboard. And not fingernails. Real nails, the kind you hammer with.

It started around eleven in the morning, waking me from a deep slumber. I laid in bed, trying to ignore it, to somehow get back to sleep.

“Fish out of water!” one of them screeched and then they all yucked it up.

I lost it.

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up, you fucking kids! Shut up now or I will shut you up! Forever!” I yelled out my window.

Silence. Then crying. Lots of crying. And the sound of an adult male getting really worked up about what I had just said. Woops.

“No, I’m not gonna calm down. Who the hell does he think he is? Yelling at my kids like that? I don’t care, Barbara, I’m gonna go up there and give him a piece of my mind!”

“Yeah, you come up here, toughguy, I’ll kick your fucking ass!” I thought, as I instinctively pulled the covers up a little higher.

“OK, well when you get back, I have to go out to the van and change Rashawn’s diaper,” replied the woman.

Rashawn?? Oh shit, was this a black guy? Why couldn’t I have just kept my mouth shut? Or at least gotten out of bed and closed the window? I’m sure that would have cut down on the noise by a pretty significant amount.

BANG BANG BANG!

“Hey, asshole. Open up!”

Judging by his voice and the force with which he knocked on my door, I figured I was in trouble.

“C’mon, toughguy. You were talking all big before, let’s see what you got!” He persisted.

Well, certainly, he would give up and go away, forgetting all about this after a few minutes, right? I mean, Rashawn’s diaper needed changing!

But no, he kept at it. Knocking and banging and yelling and making all sorts of crazy threats.

I crept up to the peephole, indeed, he was a very large man. I’m not sure if he was black or hispanic or what, but he definitely wasn’t white. Maybe Samoan or something?

“Hey, I see the light of the peephole, I know you’re looking at me, asshole! Come on out here, so I can kick your ass!”

Busted. Great. Time for some fast-thinking!

“You’re gonna kick my ass?” I asked, meakly.

“That’s right, bitch. Now open up. I can wait all day.”

My thoughts drifted to poor Rashawn and his poop-filled diaper, but I figured it was best not to provoke him anymore.

“You’re gonna kick the ass of someone with cancer?”

Silence. That seemed to work!

“Well, I…” he stammered.

“Look, I didn’t mean to yell at your kids, but the chemo pains are really bad, especially in the morning,” I offered, as way of a semi-apology.

“Oh. OK, look, I’m sorry. I’m not gonna beat you up. I’ll have the kids keep it down. Sorry. Bye.”

And off he went!

Now, if I had chalked this up to dumb luck, learned my lesson and went on my way, I might not be writing this blog from the sling I have to sleep in, standing upright, so that my vertebrae will heal correctly.

But never one to learn my lesson, I went about my life, pretty much the same way, just on the look out for any big Samoan-looking guys around my building.

A few weeks later, I was playing touch football with some friends in the park.

Wouldn’t you know it, there’s a ton of little dipshits running around all over the place, interfering with our game. No parents in sight.

I was right in the middle of my patented play-action fake when this little bitch runs right into me, fucking the whole thing up.

She starts crying. So I demand some accountability from someone.

“Whose fucking kid is this? We’re trying to play a fucking game here!”

“It’s my kid, asshole!” came the booming, familiar voice, from behind me.

Before I had even turned around, I knew who it was. I also knew I was in for some serious shit.

“So you’ve got cancer, huh, dicklick?”

“Dicklick??!” How dare he!

As he shoved me backwards, a good fifteen feet or so, I decided that he was, in fact, definitely Samoan.

So he kicked my ass, but I got some good ones in there too. I mean, it was pretty even for a while, until I accidentally hit his four year old daughter in the face with a stray punch. After that, he kinda lost it.

So really, if you think about it, I lost one fight, but I won the other, which means everything evened out.

I mean, sure, I’m in the hospital, but his daughter almost died!

Did you like this? Then be sure to follow me on Twitter: www.twitter.com/hollywoodphony.

A life less (extra)ordinary

eric coffin

“Ever since I was a child, I’ve been envious of all those athletes, at the top of their game. Victorious over all rivals, they raise their trophy high above their heads and look into the camera and say those words I was so jealous of: ‘I’m going to Disney World!’

Now, I know that I’ve got a debilitating genetic defect that makes me extremely vulnerable to injury and susceptible to massive bleeding and I’m also terribly awkward and uncoordinated with little to no knowledge of the game of football, but I’m not going to let that stop me from–”

Reverend Johnson looked up from the piece of paper he had been reading from. He took a look at the assembled crowd, drew a deep breath and continued.

“I’m not going to let that stop me from trying out for the New York Giants. I’m confident that I’m ready and that I will make the team, we will go all the way, win the Super Bowl and I will finally get my free trip to Walt Disney World Resort!”

As he finished this, several people in the audience began sobbing and wailing.

“Well, that’s all there is. Unfortunately, we know how the rest played out.”

The Reverend bowed his head and stepped to the side, as my grieving friends and family came up to my tiny, one foot-long coffin and paid their respects.

The reason my coffin was only a foot long is because after I caught the ball, the impact from the players who tackled me was so intense that my bones were actually vaporized into dust. My internal organs and blood were pulverized into goo, which leaked into the playing field of Giants Stadium, causing a bio-hazard emergency that shut down try outs for several hours.

Actually, when they dug that part of the field up, they stumbled across the remains of Jimmy Hoffa, mixed in with the obliterated traces of my corpse. So, it wasn’t all bad news.

In fact, my parents were able to successfully sue The Walt Disney Corporation for making their theme park so fantastic and awesome, as to leave little choice in their son’s mind that I would have to hatch this scheme, in order to be able to visit, due to the state of my finances at the time.

They won a record settlement of over five hundred billion dollars, which lead to the bankrupting of the whole Disney company and the closing down of Walt Disney World. The land was later turned into a giant medical/industrial park owned by a Chinese conglomerate which specialized in turning cute little puppies and kittens into fuel sources for tanks and ICBM launchers.

Unfortunately, being the inbred rednecks that they are, they spent the lump sum on five hundred billion scratch-off lottery tickets. Seeing as everybody (but them) knows those are the biggest ripoff around, they barely won back enough money for my funeral and tiny coffin.

All in all, though things didn’t work out exactly as planned, I have few regrets.

Mostly, I just regret trying out for the New York Giants and getting killed and not getting a free trip to Disney World and having Disney World get shut down because of my stupid parents and their lawsuit.

But other than that, I have very few regrets.

Thank you, the once and forever King of Pop!

king of pop

This morning, I woke up and was surprised to see upwards of 50,000 hits on my blog in the span of a few hours.

Normally, my traffic is in the hundreds. Confused? To say the least!

It wasn’t until I listened to the backlog of voicemails from my friends on the east coast that I figured out why.

Latoya Jackson had mentioned my blog, hollywoodphony.com, as one of her brother’s favorites on the Today Show!

This floored me. I was so honored, I almost started crying. I had no idea that I had affected Him this way, I honestly wasn’t even aware he knew of my existence!

This has been a crazy few hours. It just goes to show you that there’s always a silver lining, even to the worst of news.

Michael, if you can hear me up there, I want to thank you. Not just for the 847% increase in traffic to my site, but for the lifetime of wonderful music you gave to all of us!

Click here to watch the video!