My Boring-Ass Life (Revised Edition): The Uncomfortably Candid Diary of Kevin Smith (6 page)

I shower and take Byron back to the Ford dealer to pick up his truck. On my way back, I call Jen and suggest she meet me downstairs so I can take her to the cleaners to pick up her tailored dress. On the way over, she starts breaking the script down for me, talking about the first half, and whether or not I can pull this part off (she thinks I can; but then, she also thinks I’m attractive, so it’s already been proven that this woman is delusional).

We grab her dress, and while Jen’s getting some Coffee Bean, Jon Gordon calls. I debrief him, and he, too, is like “It might be worth pushing the
Clerks 2
shoot, because who knows what comes of you acting in this flick? Maybe you open yourself up to a completely different audience who’ll try out
Clerks 2
?” I say “A completely different audience who’ll then hate
Clerks 2
?” We talk about the Fox Searchlight development before he’s gotta jump off the phone. I drop Jen off at the house and head to the office to talk to Mosier about all this.

At the office, I fill Mos in (not like that, you fucking children...), and we talk about the feasibility of moving the
Clerks 2
shoot by a month or two. It’s do-able, but will anyone be happy about waiting? We talk about how Mos will fill in that two month gap, and come up with an option: if he gets bored, he can take over editing duties on Malcolm’s doc (which is editor-less at the moment). Phil, meanwhile, has called to say this
Catch & Release
thing is getting serious, and that he’s starting to feel like I should give it a shot, too. He’s gonna read the script tonight, and I tell him I’ll be doing the same.

Jen calls to tell me she’s finished reading the script. She’s not a chick-flick fan, but she loves this script. She says it’s really warm, touching, and poignant. She says I can do Sam in my sleep (not like that, you fucking children...), and that she thinks I should give it a shot.

Mos and I head up to the house, where Jen’s getting ready for her Birthday Dinner Girls Night Out with her friends. I tell her that Mos and I are gonna head to the Palm for dinner and then over to the Bike for some poker. She looks pretty-as-hell in her newly tailored dress and tiara, and I tell her so. I also tell her to have a good time, and with that, Mos and I are off to the Palm.

At the Palm, me and Mos both get Filet Mignon (his well-done, mine black and blue), and over some beers, we talk about this book he’s reading in which a former travel writer breaks down science (from the Big Bang to evolution) into laymen’s terms. After dinner, we opt to pop in on the Girl’s Night Out at Koi, the sushi place on La Cienega. We valet the car, and head to the entry, getting snapped repeatedly by paparazzi standing outside. The paparazzi are an important aspect of the story solely because of what happens next: forty seconds later, the bouncer tells me I can’t come in because I’m in shorts. I tell him I’m not staying, and that I just wanted to pop in and give my wife a kiss; it’ll take four minutes, tops. He says it’ll take no minutes, because I’m in shorts. Mos heads in to get Jen, while I stand at the entry, pretty okay with the whole affair, even if the paparazzi are snapping away at me. Seeing that I’m somebody the paparazzi seem to feel is worth wasting film on, the bouncer says, “You can step inside the door and wait right there.” I tell him it’s cool, I get it, and that I don’t wanna get him in trouble. After a minute more, he says, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom, so I’m not gonna be standing here for a few minutes. If you were to walk in, I wouldn’t know — ya’ dig?” I tell him I’ve got no interest in flaunting house rules, but thanks anyway. Then, the Birthday Girl (well, tomorrow anyway) emerges and we make out a little in the doorway of Koi, until the Bouncer returns from his leak and says, “The boss says you can go in.” So in I go with my wife, say hi to all the ladies at her table (Chay, Trish, Daniella, Lisa, Cookie, and Fanshen), kiss Jen again, and head off with Mos.

We stop at the house so I can grab more gum and Mos can grab the house keys he left behind, and we head toward the Pig ‘n Whistle, where Mewes is shooting tonight. I call his cell, but no answer, so Mos and I take the 101 to the 5 to the Long Beach Freeway and the Bike. As we exit, Mewes calls, and I tell him we tried to swing by. He’s bummed to not be going to the Bike too, and says if he gets off early, he’ll call and join us.

At the Bike, Mos and I play ‘til one or so. Our table’s filled with the usual assortment of rounders and characters. Tonight, the highlight is the Mexican couple in their late twenties/early thirties, who’re on a roll. The woman keeps saying to everyone at the table: “I’m not married, but my boyfriend is!” She digs this line, because she says it at least twenty times as the night goes on. A fan who’d been playing with us for half an hour quietly introduces himself and lets us know he’s a fan, which causes a dude at the other end of the table to whisper to the couple “I knew it”. By 1 a.m., Mos and I are ready to Donkey out, so we go all in on shit hands. We leave two hundred bucks lighter (we were only playing at the $2/$3/No Limit table) and head home.

I drop Mos off at his house, which is historic because, in the nearly-year he and Cookie have owned the house, I’ve never been over. It’s in Echo Park, and it’s pretty sweet, with excellent foliage up front, a nice backyard, and a killer fireplace. I peep it out, take a dump (couldn’t hold it anymore), and head home.

At home, Jen’s half in the bag after drinking martinis at Koi all night. But before I can take advantage of it, she falls asleep. Shortly thereafter, I do the same, watching TiVo’ed
Simpsons
.

Thursday 7 April 2005 @ 11:59 a.m.

The dogs get me up around 6:55. I let ’em out, take a leak, then climb back into bed.

I awake again at 9:30, to the sound of wife and child puttering about the room. Wife’s trying to convince child that going to school today would be in her best interest, child’s stalling. I sit up and wish the taller of the two a happy birthday. Wife takes child to get dressed for school, and I take morning shit.

With child off, wife and I sit around and play catch-up from last night. We then decide how we’re gonna celebrate her thirty-fourth birthday. We cuddle for a while, and then talk about where to eat breakfast. Like every pampered Hollywood wife, Jen opts for Quizno’s. Ever the love-slave, I head off to hunt and gather. Like a good caveman, I bring the dogs with me.

On the way to Quizno’s, I go a few miles out of my way to Moe’s on Melrose to get Schwalbach thirty-four multi-colored roses, as well as some gardenias to float in bowls of water around the room (she loves that) and some flowers for her mom (without whom there is no birthday girl). I then head to Quizno’s, and stop at Wendy’s for burgers for the Muttlies.

On the way home, I call Jenno and tell her I’m in, but that I think she’s crazy for thinking I could pull this off, when this town’s lousy with real actors. She tells me I’ll be meeting with the director on Monday.

I get home, dump the booty on the respective booty-getters, and settle in in front of the TiVo to eat my low-carb Steakhouse Beef Dip wrap and dig into a little low-carb ice cream. We opt for
Dirty War
, an HBO movie on DVD about a dirty bomb going off in London that I picked up the other day.

Before we know it, it’s three, and Harley’s home. Jen and Harley bomb around for a while, and I try to get through the now-300 emails that’re sitting in my inbox.

Suddenly, Harley decides it’s present time. We head to the kitchen, where Byron, Gail, and Harley’s gifts are all spread out. Jen unwraps and coos, and Quinnster and I fight about who gets to keep the boxes (I like to wind the kid up sometimes). Following that, dinner is served: lasagna for the Birthday Girl and family, bun-less cheeseburgers for me. Harley makes us go around the table, stating our name, age, and a memory of our favorite birthday. It’s moments like this, I realize, that I’m really gonna miss in twenty years.

Post dinner, the candles are lit, and the Birthday Girl has at it. While the other four dig into what looks like just the flat-out best Duncan Hines cake ever made, I putter, trying not to think about all that sugar I’m missing out on. Quinnster and I adjourn to the living room to play some Tetris until it’s time for her to go to bed.

I rendezvous with Schwalbach in our bedroom, and we go over the three scenes I’ll be reading with Susanah on Monday. Immediately, I feel like a total fraud, but Jen seems into my horrible little performance. We go through the scenes for an hour, until I retire to the bed, where I fight with the room’s WiFi for a decent connection. Around 10:20, mid-TiVo’ed
Law & Order
, I fall asleep. Jen wakes me up an hour later to say g’night and climb into bed beside me. It wasn’t the best birthday in the world, but considering we did exactly what she wanted, it wasn’t the worst either.

Friday 8 April 2005 @ 11:59 a.m.

6:45 with the dogs. It’s like a fucking meat locker in our room. I let Captain Insecurity and the Brainless Wonder out, take a leak, and head to the computer to update the diary. I’m feeling kinda randy, but I don’t wanna wake Jen up, so I click open my Jen nudes and tug one out in my office at the desk. From there, it’s over to email.

Jen’s got a doctor’s appointment at eleven, so after she makes Harley’s lunch and we see her off (Jen from downstairs, me from the upstairs balcony — she’s wearing pony-tails to school for a class trip to see a stage version of
Aladdin
and looks adorable), Jen does the couch trip, the morning coffee, and is in the shower. I’m all over email and trying to sort out more
Clerks 2
/
Catch & Release
stuff.

Get an email from JJ Abrams, who’s in for my guest-hosting episode of
Dinner for Five
. The final, locked five is JJ, Jason Lee, Stan Lee, Mark Hamill, and me. We shoot on Tuesday.

Jen and I make a post-doctor’s lunch date (as well as a post-lunch fuck date), and she’s off. Feeling a little randy again at the thought of the post-lunch fuck date, I head back to my office, break open the Jen pics again, and jerk off anew.

Off to the shower. I’ve got a noon meeting at the office with reps from the Director’s Guild. I dry off, get dressed, grab some gum, and head downstairs.

Byron and Gail are off to Mammoth for the weekend for a ski trip we’re sending Byron on for his birthday. We make arrangements to have Louis (the little Chocolate Lab Jen and I bought for Harley at Chay’s insistence on New Year’s Day that Byron has somehow inherited) shipped off to puppy camp (she’s still in the stage where she needs constant supervision, lest she eat all Harley’s crayons and shits all over the house). I kiss ’em both goodbye and then take the three-minute drive down to the Sycamore office.

There, Fern (from DGA East) and John (from DGA West) are already waiting with Smalls. I take them to my office and they chat me up about finally joining the DGA. I’ve been directing films for twelve years now, but I’ve never been a DGA member. It’s kinda flattering that they’re making the push to get me to join, because they feel that my inclusion sends a clear message to up-and-coming indie auteurs that the Guild is an essential part of any director’s balanced breakfast. They tell me I’m one of the last holdouts (Quentin being another; Robert’s been in and out of the Guild several times) and ask why I’ve never joined. I don’t really have a good answer beyond the fact that I couldn’t see the point in being part of another useless club. They maintain that, even though I’m deep enough in my career and have enough juice to not need Guild muscle behind me at the bargaining table, there are other benefits. They crack open a numbers sheet that makes it clear that if I’d been a Guild member since
Mallrats
, I’d have made close to a million dollars in residuals off of video sales. Also, by joining, the A.D.s and U.P.M.s I work with get protected and residuals too, as well as an insanely top-notch health plan. I suddenly remember why I didn’t join years ago, and that’s because I never want to throw that ‘A Film By’ credit in front of my name in the credit block. They say that, as a DGA member, it’s not mandatory at all (in fact, they try to limit the ‘Film By’ credit so that it doesn’t lose its meaning, and save it for folks like Scorsese, Lynch, Lucas, Spielberg, etc.). They cap it all off by telling me not every director is invited to join (or even accepted into) the Guild, and that I’d be a good score because I’m high profile, and if what it takes is an invitation letter from Guild President Michael Apted, then said letter will arrive next week. I say I’ll give it all a serious think, and thanks for coming in. Nice folks.

Post-meeting, I pop into the editing room to see what Mosier’s been doing with the
Mallrats
re-cut. We’ve decided that, instead of calling this The Director’s Cut that we should call it The Cut That Should Never Have Been — as longer doesn’t mean better (certainly in the case of
Rats
). Afterwards, while I’m chitchatting with Smalls, Jen calls. She’s home from the doctor’s and ready to grab some lunch.

I swing up to the house, grab Schwalbach, and we head over to the Newsroom for lunch. The place is crowded, but we get a table and chow down: me on turkey meatloaf and chicken, Jen on some veggie soup and an artichoke. We talk about a bunch of stuff, including the Poetry Reading even we’re holding up at the house next weekend to benefit Harley’s school’s Fine Arts program.

After lunch, we cross the street and go to Kitson’s, this chick store on Robertson. Jen picks up an ‘Award Winning Wife’ t-shirt and an ashtray. Mos calls, and we talk about the
Rats
cut, and how we should perhaps deliver big chunks to Universal, as there’s a lot of post-work to do to get it presentable (they’ve gotta go back to the negative, re-mix the sound, extend music cues, create new music cues, etc.). Done shopping, Jen and I head cross town to pick up Harley from school.

On the ride, Jen and I start talking sex, which evolves (or devolves) into dirty talk. I’m hard and she’s wet, but the kid gets out of school in two minutes. All hot and bothered, we decide that, when we get home, we’re gonna send Harley to watch some TV in her room for ten minutes while we go upstairs for a quickie.