L.A. Magazine featured the life of an actor-waiter in its August L.A. Archetype column, and now come November, another former Minnesotan appears in the very same column. Hmmm…

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I’m two weeks away from launching my web opus: USofAnderson.com—hence my recent hiatus from the blogging world.

It’s a project that has consumed me like a room full of puppies, vicious puppies gnawing my ankles like KFC chicken wings, for nearly three years.

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I was in the TC this past weekend to attend the Upper Midwest Emmy Awards (the Redemption Party videos I produced last year were nominated in a promotions category) and to visit Dad who, God willing, will be starting his second round of chemo at Abbott Northwestern Hospital this week (the peach-fuzzed monk is upbeat and ready to go to battle).

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Hollywood is apoplectic today with the news that 111-year-old talent agency William Morris is merging with the fourteen-year-old agency Endeavor. Endeavor was started in the mid-nineties by Ari Emanuel (the inspiration for Entourage character Ari Gold and brother to Obama’s chief of staff, Rahm Emanuel). As the trades are reporting today, it’s a well-suited match: William Morris has cash from its lucrative music ventures and decades of TV packaging fees (The Andy Griffith Show, The Dick Van Dyke Show, The Cosby Show) while Endeavor has the more impressive client roaster of Hollywood’s elite actors, writers, directors, and producers.

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Day two of the Sinless Vegas Bachelor Party started at noon at the Bellagio Buffet’s Champagne Brunch. For more than four hours, we sipped champagne and buffeted to our hearts' content. We had come seeking Alaskan King Crab, but the succulent meat isn’t served until 4 p.m., so we ate, drank, and waited.

Much like Robert Bly’s Iron John, the experience birthed incredible conversation and interaction. 

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Last year I took on a major challenge and journeyed with my mother to Las Vegas for some good ole r and r. Although punctuated by some very awkward situations—namely when Mom met a shirtless Carrot Top at Hard Rock and was then forced into a poolside conversation about boob jobs by our waitress—it was an unqualified success.

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Reuters had a good article early last week on how the economic downturn/recession/OMG-I-have-no-money-no-heath-care-no-new-Tweets depression has caused Wall Street to back out of billions of dollars worth of film deals.

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I’m not sure how I feel about Hollywood’s grand night ’09. My director friend, Steph Green, nominated in the short film category, lost to a Holocaust film; Hugh “Wolverina” Jackman pranced in a top hat; and Tina Fey and Steve Martin made me laugh at Scientology. Slumdog’s win made America and India feel good, even though I like to call it City of God-light (there’s a heckuva movie), and Milk’s deserving wins in best original screenplay and best actor delivered some of the most notable acceptance speeches of the night. I’ll admit, I had tears in my eyes when Dustin Lance Black spoke of his long journey to the Kodak Theater.

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This year I have a dear friend nominated for an Academy Award. Director Steph Green and her film, New Boy, are up for an Oscar in the Live Action Short Film Category. Based on author Rodney Doyle’s short story, it’s an incredible eleven minutes, delivering both heart and humor as a young immigrant to Ireland enters his first day of school.

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It don’t look good for the sultan of LA Love. Less than twenty-four hours to the holiday of true romance, and LA Log just received an email from a single vixen declining a Saturday date because of the “loaded” nature of the 14th. Date rescheduled for the 21st.

Phooey.

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