the joint, he inhales deeply until there is nothing left but air between his fingertips. After a moment, the person whose home he passed out in wanders through and, surprised to find Felix (with a whole camera crew) on his couch, awkwardly says, “Hey, man. I didn’t know anybody was still here.” Whereupon, groggily but cheerfully, Felix replies, “Mind if I cook up some breakfast?”
“Nah,” the host answers, “but my kitchen’s completely empty.” To which Felix responds, “I’ll just have a look.” He opens one cupboard after another before, wild-eyed, he cries out, “Waddya mean ‘empty,’ you got baking soda and dried parsley! Let me see what I can do.”
Cut to twenty minutes later, and we see Felix serving what he calls “an egg substitute.” The host digs in, “Hmmmmm,” and shakes his head. “How did he do it?” the host asks the camera now. Cut back to the kitchen twenty minutes earlier, and the audience gets to watch Felix create his meal from scratch and cook along with him at home.
The credits roll as the host and Felix enjoy their breakfast. “Just like Pellegrino!” the host exclaims, following a sip of his Alka-Seltzer water. Then Felix takes a sip of his own glass filled with watered-down ketchup. “Hmmm, just like tomato juice!” he says, raising his glass for a toast.
We have lots of ideas, Felix and I. Since he’s around so often, we get to talking and come up with all sorts of stuff. I try to write down the ideas as they come to us, in order that we return to them once we’ve finished the joint, that round of backgammon, or “The Hokey Pokey” (I have it on record; mostly I play it at parties, but one time Felix decided we should get some exercise). We’ve got some pretty good ideas for screenplays, too. My favorite right now is City Squirrels! , in which New York City in the not-so-distant future is overrun by vindictive squirrels. It’s like The Birds meets Escape from New York but with squirrels instead of birds.
I’m more of a scheduler than Felix is, so I’ll say, “Felix, here’s what we’re gonna do. At 1:00, we’re gonna work on City Squirrels! Then at 2:00, we’ll have a fifteen-minute dance break. Then we’ll do an hour’s worth of revision on whatever we’ve come up with.” We’ve never actually gotten to the revision stage though. Usually, we get stuck arguing over details. For example, Felix thinks the squirrels should be noticeably demonic looking with extra-red eyes, while I think it would be much scarier if the squirrels looked completely normal.
“It begins in Tompkins Square Park, where the squirrels have gotten into some hypodermic needles left over from the ’80s when the park was overrun with junkies, which causes them to mutate and become extra aggressive,” he says.
“No way! No one should know why it’s happening. It should be an existential apocalypse, a scourge open to interpretation!”
We’re never able to resolve these disputes so usually after arguing awhile, we’ll just move on to a different project. I’ll get out my crayons and coals and suggest we clear our heads by drawing and return to the script later. I have a drawing table in my apartment, so friends are always making things when they come over. I usually draw The Naked Woman—the heroine of my comic book, which is on sale at St. Mark’s right now; I’ve sold three copies. I’d started out trying to draw classical da Vinci–style nudes, but my nudes tended to look more cartoonish than Vitruvian, so I figured why not go with it, and gave her a drink and cigarette and began adding speech bubbles.
Felix likes to make drawings of hungry monsters eating their spectacles and the spectacles of others, or hungry spectacles eating monsters. He’s very creative. All of our friends are aware of how creative and talented Felix is—though he’s primarily an actor/comedian, he also paints and draws—which is one of the reasons we let him stay on our couches.
“Nah,” the host answers, “but my kitchen’s completely empty.” To which Felix responds, “I’ll just have a look.” He opens one cupboard after another before, wild-eyed, he cries out, “Waddya mean ‘empty,’ you got baking soda and dried parsley! Let me see what I can do.”
Cut to twenty minutes later, and we see Felix serving what he calls “an egg substitute.” The host digs in, “Hmmmmm,” and shakes his head. “How did he do it?” the host asks the camera now. Cut back to the kitchen twenty minutes earlier, and the audience gets to watch Felix create his meal from scratch and cook along with him at home.
The credits roll as the host and Felix enjoy their breakfast. “Just like Pellegrino!” the host exclaims, following a sip of his Alka-Seltzer water. Then Felix takes a sip of his own glass filled with watered-down ketchup. “Hmmm, just like tomato juice!” he says, raising his glass for a toast.
We have lots of ideas, Felix and I. Since he’s around so often, we get to talking and come up with all sorts of stuff. I try to write down the ideas as they come to us, in order that we return to them once we’ve finished the joint, that round of backgammon, or “The Hokey Pokey” (I have it on record; mostly I play it at parties, but one time Felix decided we should get some exercise). We’ve got some pretty good ideas for screenplays, too. My favorite right now is City Squirrels! , in which New York City in the not-so-distant future is overrun by vindictive squirrels. It’s like The Birds meets Escape from New York but with squirrels instead of birds.
I’m more of a scheduler than Felix is, so I’ll say, “Felix, here’s what we’re gonna do. At 1:00, we’re gonna work on City Squirrels! Then at 2:00, we’ll have a fifteen-minute dance break. Then we’ll do an hour’s worth of revision on whatever we’ve come up with.” We’ve never actually gotten to the revision stage though. Usually, we get stuck arguing over details. For example, Felix thinks the squirrels should be noticeably demonic looking with extra-red eyes, while I think it would be much scarier if the squirrels looked completely normal.
“It begins in Tompkins Square Park, where the squirrels have gotten into some hypodermic needles left over from the ’80s when the park was overrun with junkies, which causes them to mutate and become extra aggressive,” he says.
“No way! No one should know why it’s happening. It should be an existential apocalypse, a scourge open to interpretation!”
We’re never able to resolve these disputes so usually after arguing awhile, we’ll just move on to a different project. I’ll get out my crayons and coals and suggest we clear our heads by drawing and return to the script later. I have a drawing table in my apartment, so friends are always making things when they come over. I usually draw The Naked Woman—the heroine of my comic book, which is on sale at St. Mark’s right now; I’ve sold three copies. I’d started out trying to draw classical da Vinci–style nudes, but my nudes tended to look more cartoonish than Vitruvian, so I figured why not go with it, and gave her a drink and cigarette and began adding speech bubbles.
Felix likes to make drawings of hungry monsters eating their spectacles and the spectacles of others, or hungry spectacles eating monsters. He’s very creative. All of our friends are aware of how creative and talented Felix is—though he’s primarily an actor/comedian, he also paints and draws—which is one of the reasons we let him stay on our couches.
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