Attica

The other night, I’m having dinner at Mozza (note: not the best pizza in Los Angeles. People have been suckered by the hype. It’s an okay pizza. I can give you five places that wipe the floor with Mozza… but that’s where the story takes place). I’m having dinner with my agent Jeff and our wives.

I excuse myself to use the washroom. The door of which is a little shaky. It locks… but barely. I’m presuming it will hold. I begin my business, when the door opens and the guy isn’t even looking in yet… he’s talking to his date with the door wide open to the restaurant. I tell him, “Hey buddy, shut the door.” Doesn’t hear me. “Hey, close the door!” Doesn’t hear me… I reach over, grab the door, and yank it closed.

Now all I hear is his date laughing loudly. Great. I go over and wash my hands. Stare myself down in the mirror and prepare to face the music. I step outside and find the guy and his girlfriend blushing and suppressing laughter.

I say, “Hope I didn’t ruin your dinner”

The guy looks at me says, “I just wanted to tell you, I loved Juno.”

That’s the second best thing I heard last week. Earlier that day, I got invited to a crazy luncheon with Warren Beatty, Oliver Stone, Frank Pierson, and Laura Ziskin. At one point while they were discussing how no one appreciates history anymore, Stone turned to Pierson and asked, “Frank, do you remember Attica?”

If you don’t get this, look it up. It’s fucking hilarious. Genius. It’s like me asking Oliver Stone if he remembers Vietnam.