FAME, BITCH-SLAPPING AND SWOLLEN CHERRIES

I'm on flight back from New York, so I'd figure I'd kill the ride with a blog. Fame and Violence. Two of my favorite subjects. In light of the recent accusations about Marc Cherry assaulting one of his actresses, I thought I'd weigh in from a showrunner's perspective. First, let me qualify by saying I do not know Mr. Cherry, nor do I watch his show. I'm sure it is a good show, it's just not my particular shade of lipstick. I also do not know any of the facts of the alleged attack, other than those released to the press. I will say that the headlines sent a shiver up my spine. As much as I enjoy the status of running a high-profile show, the Cherry news made me painfully aware of the downside of, as Variety recently profiled, the celebrity showrunner. Clearly, the "look at me" sword cuts both fucking ways. 

I love my small slice of fame. Anyone who says they don't want to be famous is lying (except JD Salinger, I believed him). It's not without it's drawbacks, but faced with the desire to have it or have it not, the truthful would opt for the have. From Actor to Zoologist, everyone dreams of being loved, adored and worshiped. I wish it wasn't true. Really, I wish I was deeper and secure enough that I didn't crave the attention of strangers, but alas, Facebook and Twitter give me half a chubbie (I reserve the full chubbie for other parts of the internet). Plus the instant connection to the fanbase of SOA is remarkable. I enjoy the feedback, the wacky suggestions and the deep felt connection folks have to my characters. It's incredibly gratifying and serves as a great way to keep our audience plugged into the show during our long downtime off-air. 

The truth is, self-promotion comes very easily to me. I have a huge fucking ego and my favorite subject is Kurt Sutter. If I am being truly honest, I am my own biggest fan. I try to temper that by staying honest and outing myself on my own lack of humility. To stay right-sized I have to always put the work in front of my own needs. Meaning, at the end of the day, Sons of Anarchy needs to be more important than my career goals. If I can remember to keep the creative work the priority, I'm usually capable of doing my job while remaining a decent and approachable man.

Here is why the Cherry thing scares me -- that could have easily been me. Not the striking an actress part, I adore my actors and our set is a big fucking love-fest. It's the anger part. Letting the stress and frustration of the gig push me past the point of rational choice. I'm not an angry guy, but I'm an extraordinarily controlling guy. When I sense any loss of control, I get scared. When I'm scared, I panic. When I panic, I act out. All that happens in a millisecond. For me, it usually manifests into an inappropriate email or slamming a phone down on an agent or executive. Shit happens. I'm not making excuses for Mr. Cherry. If he did actually strike someone, no matter what the circumstances, there needs to be reckoning.  I'm just saying it's a wake up call for writers, directors and producers. Our behavior is no longer private property, hidden behind stage walls. If we choose to live by Twitter, we can die by TMZ. Because now our behavior is of interest and we are capable of generating dirt for public consumption. So, if I have a meltdown on set, no one can stop a bored extra from snapping a photo or video snip and uploading it to Twitter. We live in an invasive age, where "everyone is big brother" (my wife's quote). I know this is not new, we've been here for awhile. It's just new for me and some of my brethren.

My first impulse is to completely unplug.  Burn all my accounts and recess back into the shadows of my writer's room, but I think it's too late for that.  Me disappearing from the scene could actually negatively impact the show.  Maybe.  So, instead I will try to embrace the challenge. The truth is, anything to keep my ego in check and my behavior accountable is probably a good thing. Sometimes humility has to kick me in the nuts to get my attention. I'm guessing Cherry's nuts are sufficiently swollen. I'm sure that was his accuser's attention.  

Note to self: never give aging starlets stunt direction.  

BECOME PART OF THE SEASON 2 DVD

We are doing a ROUNDTABLE forum as one of the DVD extras for Season 2 of Sons of Anarchy.  It'll be an on-camera free-for-all.  Me and the cast from the show in the chapel, talking shit and answering questions.   

Your questions.  

I am going to select random questions from readers of this blog and friends and fans on Facebook and Twitter.  I have set up an email account, questions@sutterink.com.  Please only submit your question there, I cannot accept them on my blog, Facebook or Twitter.  In your email, please include ONE QUESTION only, the name you would like to be identified by (because I will read it in the taping) and a return email address.  The query can be about anything related to the show, cast or crew.  You can submit as many emails as you want, but please only one question per email.  The more obscure and uncomfortable the question, the better. I will notify folks by email and probably need you to sign a waiver to use the question and say your name on camera.

The deadline is soon -- Friday, April 9th.  Pass it on.

Thanks.

RETARDED INFIDELITY

I never cheated on my first wife.  I ended that brief marriage because I knew that I wasn't ready to be a husband.  Soon after the nuptial, I became very aware that if I stayed, I would cheat.  It was really painful and extremely embarrassing for her, but I know ending that union prevented far-greater future damage.  I was trying to keep my brain one step ahead of my dick.

With my current wife of 5 years, I've got no reason to cheat.  She's a tremendous woman, who supports me, tolerates my vast collection of idiosyncrasies, loves me with all her heart, and well... is a total fucking babe.  C'mon, how lucky am I?  I get to fuck Katey Sagal.  I know this blog will embarrass her, but I don't care.  It's true and now, I've said it.

So when the shit hits the fan about all these celebrity marriages imploding because of adultry, it's a little difficult for me to wrap my brain around it.  Truth is, I don't know what it's like to be a celebrity the likes of Tiger Woods or Jesse James.  Maybe there is some repressed need to sabotage happiness because one can never really live up to the the expectation of fame.  I don't know.  Maybe it's a seven-year itch thing.  Although, I think Tiger's been scratching since year one.  I do know it makes me really respect guys like Clooney, who are smart enough not to marry yet because they know themselves. 

Look, far be if from me to cast judgment about another man's indiscretions.  The skeletons in my closet had to add on a back room. But I can express some pragmatic realities for the high-profile husband (or any husband for that matter) who is thinking about cheating on his wife.  It's simple -- Don't fuck anyone who has more to gain by revealing the affair than by keeping it a secret.  If you bed porn stars, fame whores, professional social climbers and self proclaimed tattoo models, chances are their need for money and web hits is going to override your tender whispers of, "Hey baby, we got a great thing going here.  Let's keep it between us."  I think these guys just get delusional.  When they get away with it once, they feel invulnerable, like they have super cheating powers.  "Fear not, big fake-titted extra-who-wants-to-be-in-movies, I can save you, I am Incredibly Loose Dick Man!"

And I wanna know whatever happened to hookers?  I can't imagine taking one of these dirty skanks out to dinner -- after you throw in the Vagisil, STD test, champagne and blow -- is any cheaper than a respectable call girl.  And as my buddy Chuck says, you don't pay a hooker for sex, you pay her to leave and shut up.  Discretion isn't a courtesy, it's the job description.  Now, I'm not condoning men cheating on their wives with hookers, I'm just exploring the ever-growing phenomenon of retarded infidelity.  

So to sum up -- Don't marry until you're done fucking the loose change in the sofa.  Once you do marry, don't cheat.  If for some reason, things go south (or I guess North) and you are compelled to stray, don't fuck anyone who has had more visits to the plastic surgeon than the shrink.

God bless.