A delicious concoction of tasty morsels of thought, epiphany and general anger management

 
Inside the Actor's Studio

My acting credentials are well-known. If you need convincing, please go to the library and pick up the nearest copy of Pickle This! In addition to being one of the finer works to be produced about travelling theater company's, it details my time on the road with an intrepid group of actors. We had some fine times on the road, ingesting hallucinogenics and performing "Hamlet" in the nude. There was one time Jack Lemmon and I put rollers into Walter Matthau's hair. When he woke up the next morning, he had an Afro. Jack Lemmon and I laughed and laughed. I mean no offense to Jack Lemmon. Jack Lemmon is a dear friend of mine. I remember my days as a writer for the hit TV series Room 222. I'd just finished this one episode where I had Pete Dixon telling Cleon to focus on his studies instead of beating up the white kids. Jack Lemmon swung by the set. He had been filming The Out-of-Towners on a nearby lot. Jack Lemmon and I took turns flicking the stagehands behind the ears. Then, we got so liquored up we could see and made passionate love to the housekeeping staff of the Beverly Hills Hotel. In the morning, we'd drive to the Gold Coast and urinate on the statues. He was a good friend and I miss him dearly.

It was my appearance on Inside the Actor's Studio that had me waxing nostalgic about my glory days in TV and cinema. Here now, my answers to the questionnaire made famous by the great Bernard Pivot as administered to me by James Lipton:

JL: What is your favorite word?

GW: Zanzibar

JL: What is you least favorite word?

GW: Pudding

JL: What turns you on?

GW: There is a moment on a summer’s day, when it’s just about to rain. The air gets this heavy feel to it and if you breathe in, your nostrils and lungs will fill with the smell of something that can only be described as the closest one can come to heaven right here on Earth. Also, miniature golf.

JL: (laughs) Nicely done. What turns you off?

GW: When someone kicks you in the nuts so hard that you vomit.

JL: That is a turn-off. What sound or noise do you love?

GW: If you listen closely on a summer’s night, you can spy in on the sounds of love. If you hone your aural acuity, you will hear the mellifluous tones of two rabid raccoons, engaged in fierce sexual congress. It is awe-inspiring and truly beautiful.

JL: What sound or noise do you hate?

GW: I hate the sound of “Cancciones A Mi Padre,” by Linda Ronstadt

JL: What is your favorite curse word?

GW: Assbite.

JL: Interesting.

GW: I like to use it when I’m taunting the hoboes down at the rail yard.

JL: Well played. What profession, other than yours, would you like to attempt?

GW: I always wanted to be a waiter/ess at Lucky Chang’s. I’ve had many an application turned down there.

JL: What profession would you not like to participate in?

GW: School nurse. My school nurse used to whip my ass with a length of surgical tubing when I went to her office complaining of stomach cramps.

JL: Finally, if Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

GW: “I’m glad you are here. I can finally retire.”

posted by G.Wo at 2:15 PM

 
Results

Recently, and in accordance with the court's ruling, I was subjected to a rigorous psychological examination. The examination, conducted by the Bellevue Hospital facility, was a three day procedure set to evaluate my mental competentcies in several areas. Dr. Alexander Wolinetz, my brother, conducted the examination. I know what you are thinking. How could my parents possibly have produced more progeny after the genius that is simply known as "Wolinetz" was born unto the Earth? This is a valid question, but I assure you that we are related. Upon receiving his Ph.D in Psychiatric Medicine from Harvard Medical school, Dr. Wolinetz traveled the world as a roving psychiatric instructor, often teaching people that were not qualified and did not want to receive the training he offered. Upon returning to the United States, he honed his skills with that raving lunatic Liza Minnelli. I mean no offense to Liza Minnelli. Liza Minnelli is a dear friend of mine. In the days before she married a homosexual producer, Liza Minnelli and I would wonder the set of Arthur and try to set Dudley Moore's hair on fire with a crude melange of turpentine, vodka and triple sec. This mixture also made for a delicious after-dinner cocktail, provided you were a non-smoker. Liza Minnelli would board her father's yacht and make obscene gestures at the tourists of the Mexican Riviera. I miss those days.

My examination was trying. It took much energy to subject myself to the vagaries of the psychiatric community. My brother was of no help. He insisted that I run on a treadmill while undergoing the examination, which I found to be excessive during a routine Rohrshak test. In any event, upon conclusion of the exam, I was presented with the results. Here now for your enjoyment, the results of this exam:

-- Mr. Wolinetz, when returning home to his residence, will come in at 2:00 AM, don a Burger King crown and scream at residents of the house including the dogs, cats and birds, asking “Who’s da king?” His superiority complex could prove dangerous. Do not issue him the concealed assault rifle license that he has applied for.

-- Mr. Wolinetz demands that 13-year old Jewish kids invite him to their Bar Mitzvahs, threatening that he'll eat their yarmulkes if snubbed. These threats have been realized on several occasions, most notably the March 15, 2002 Weinstein Bar Mitzvah that made headlines all over the nation. These bizarre eating habits point to a borderline psychotic love of cheap velvet and pornography.

-- Although Mr. Wolinetz claims that he sees many movies, he rarely goes to the cinema. Instead, he hires homeless people to act out pivotal scenes from the films of Billy Bardy. When he does attend the cinema, he complains about the movie. No matter the genre, he compares the films to "that bastard Adam Sandler’s movies" He cites “Billy Madison” and “Happy Gilmore” most frequently. He also claims to have several digitally enhanced versions of "The Godfather," "Gone With The Wind" and "One Flew Over The Cookoo's Nest" all with Mr. Sandler in the lead. Mr. Wolinetz displays a shocking, almost perverse, obsession with Adam Sandler. The restraining order should be extended to 500 feet. Also, I'd like to see that version of "The Godfather."

-- He runs cockfights fights in his Upper West Side apartment, but is too cheap to use roosters. The battles are instead fought by jumbo prawns purchased bulk from Red Lobster. Mr. Wolinetz consumes the losers of these fights live, in front of a mortified audience. Advise the Red Lobster company to cease this transaction at once. Also, this consumption of live seafood is almost textbook. Mr. Wolinetz has a clear penchant for beastiality.

During his stay, Mr. wolinetz has had sexual intercourse with 5 of the staff nurses. He has an almost animal magnetism. Post coitus, these women provide a similar recounting of the episode, describing a "dark, musky scent" and "the blinding light of passion." I am bewildered by the psychiatric ramifications of this information. In all my years of training, I have never seen such a phenomenon. It is the advice of this professional that Mr. Wolinetz be confined to his home for a period of two weeks, during which he not be allowed to go near the food processor, blender, really anything sharp at all. He should be considered a danger to society.

posted by G.Wo at 8:31 AM

 
Perhaps There Is Life On This Planet

I have returned, albeit briefly, to my desk job at this Somewhat Less Major Media Company. It is April now, though the weather hardly portrays the month that I have come to know over my years here. The harsh wintery air blows viciously and I seek cover to avoid mussing my hair. I am gently reminded of time that Audrey Hepburn and I spent time on location during her Charade shoot. I mean no offense to Audrey Hepburn. Audrey Hepburn is a dear friend of mine. It was winter in the Alps and the ski conditions were phenomenal. The beautiful vista and the metamphetimines had me ready to hit the slopes. Audrey Hepburn and I spent three glorious days together, making love like Abominable Snowpeople up on high. Audrey Hepburn and I visited the Swiss coffee shops and dispensed advice free of charge to the locals. Audrey Hepburn spoke 4 languages and translated for me as I waxed philosophical regarding life, music, lovemaking and Cheetos. Audrey Hepburn and I were a magical couple and though we were never married, I continue to love her with all my heart. I digress.

I headed eagerly toward my subway stop, happily anticipating the free Internet and coffee that awaited me at SLMMC. I was distractedly dreaming of the copious amounts of pornography that I could view online. I enjoy pronography very much, but what I enjoy most is when they cut out the face of a starlet, such as my ex-wife Renee Zellweger, and paste it to another body, thereby giving the illusion of nudity. There are some clever folks at these sites. Back to the matter, I was walking along to the stop and I bumped into an attractive young female. She was immediately enraptured by my startling good looks. Our eyes met. I apologized profusely for my ineptitude, a lack of grace which I normally do not display. The woman coyly smiled at me.

"Are you Wolinetz?"
"I am."
"I recognized you from your picture on the book jacket of Let's Go Indonesia. I toured there last summer."
"We have much to talk about."

But talking is not what I do best. Making love is. Well, getting myself into hallucinogenically-inspired predicaments is what I do best. Making love is a close second. Work would wait for a few hours. For now, I have discovered a kindred spirit in my Upper West Side neighborhood. We had love to make and things to speak about. Memories to share and moments to laugh about. Perhaps, there is life on this planet.

posted by G.Wo at 10:08 AM

 
A Time To Laugh, A Time To Cry

The coming week will be a difficult one. For next week, I was to have celebrated, along with millions of others, the birthday of a dear friend who passed away some weeks ago. I am to spend the weekend sadder than that slack-jawed idiot Gary Busey in a women's prison with a fistful of pardons. I mean no offense to Gary Busey. Gary Busey is a dear friend of mine. When Gary Busey came to your door with four grams of peyote and some Bartles and Jaymes, you knew that there was good times ahead. Often times, we'd smoke peyote and then wind up in the parking lot of the Circle K some six months later. It would only be through newspaper clippings that my ex-wife Diane Lane would save that we would come to discover that our adventure included a nude romp through "Six Flags Wild America", hitting the jackpot on the Wheel of Fortune slot machine at Caesar's Palace Las Vegas, arguing fervently against the death penalty on This Week With David Brinkley, arguing fervently for the death penalty on Meet The Press and a shotgun (later annulled) dual wedding with Cindy Williams and Penny Marshall. I digress.

My dear friend Fred Rogers, known to legions of children as Mr. Rogers, passed away recently. It was to be his 75th birthday on March 20th. His death touched me in a deep and profound way. The vagaries of my life seem insignificant in the wake of his passing. He was a truly special and meaningful part of my life. Here now, the eulogy that I read at his funeral:

We deeply mourn the passing for Fred Rogers today at the age of 74. He spent his entire adult life bringing joy in to the hearts of youngsters nationwide with his show, Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. His messages were presented clearly to young people in his easy laid back manner. To commemorate his life, I present one of the many original songs that Rogers produced in the nearly 35 years that he presented his show on public television.

There Are Many Ways To Say I Love You

There are many ways to say I love you
There are many ways to say I care about you
Many ways, many ways
Many ways to say I love you

There’s the singing way to say I love you
There’s the singing something someone really likes to hear
The singing way, the singing way
The singing way to say I love you

Cleaning up a room can say I love you
Hanging up a coat before you’re asked to
Drawing special pictures for the holidays
And making plays

You’ll find so many ways to say I love you
You’ll find so many ways to understand what love is
Many ways, many ways
Many ways to say I love you

Singing, cleaning, drawing, being understanding
Love you

© 1970 Fred M. Rogers

Mr. Rogers let us remember that things were simpler once. They can be simple again. There are so many ways to say I love you, Mr. Rogers. I hope this does the trick.

posted by G.Wo at 1:31 PM

 
A Star Is Born

The sun shines brightly on this crisp winter morning. It is cold but not arctic and I can walk without the gloves that were a gift to me from former Screen Actors Guild president Richard Masur. I mean no offense to Richard Masur. Richard Masur is a dear friend of mine. I remember when, in days that have long since gone by, Richard Masur and I would visit Studio 54 and gain admittance with my world renown and his afro. While at the studio, Richard Masur would gaze longingly at Grace Jones as I was off in the basement, ingesting enough Aphetamines to kill a small Latino family. Richard Masur would then rip off a "Tango Hustle" that you'd sell your mother to be able to do, amid raucous cheering from an admiring crowd. Richard Masur would visit the "One Day At A Time" set and throw Chesse Doodles at a stoned, slack-jawed Mackenzie Phillips. If you do not know of the seminal 1970s half-hour sitcom, "One Day At A Time", do yourself a favor and watch one of the most poignant television shows of the 20th century. You will not regret it. I digress.

I am reminded of all this, as I look at my gloves, the gift of a dear friend upon the birth of my daughter. I remember it as though it were yesterday. Fighting ravaged French Indochina and I, the intrepid journalist, hopped a flight to Burma (it will always be Burma to me) as soon as I could to meet with UN Secretary General U Thant at his request. Mr. Thant was a slight man with fiery eyes that looked deep into your soul. I could tell immediately that he recognized my prowess as an international uniter of men. He was wise. We spoke at length about a great deal of world issues and played "Chase the Zebra" in his backyard. They are fast critters. Don't let the stripes fool you. I knew that my time with the Secretary General was well spent. I admired him greatly, for his wife was gorgeous and he was not. This is a feat greater than the settling of wars, an ugly dude scoring a hot lady.

While in Burma, I befriended a nubile young Asian woman. We dined on the local delicacies and we indulged in absinthe. Afterward, we met in passionate sexual congress for several hours and though I really didn't want to stick around, I managed to summon up the courage to remain by her side for another 30 minutes. She looked deep into me with probing dark eyes.

"Wolinetz, I am with child."
"I know."
"It is yours."
"I know."

I got up and left. In nine months, I returned to witness the birth of my child. My young Burmese concubine was a warrior, defeating the pain of her labor with copious epidurals. When all was said and done, I was a father. I reached to my face, like a man reaching to his face, and brushed a single tear from my cheek. The nurse cleaned my daughter and handed her to me. She was beautiful. There was now a woman on the planet that I loved platonically.

"What will you name her?" I was the nurse.
"Welcome. Welcome to the world, U Wolinetz."

posted by G.Wo at 6:43 AM