When you're just starting your chosen profession, inevitably your parents will have one ridiculous friend who they want you to talk to if you have questions about "breaking in." That friend is almost often completely useless.
When I was in the process of optioning my first script for $2500, I had no lawyer or agent. My dad had grown up in L.A. but wasn't in the business & didn't live here. He thought it'd be great if I talked to one of his high school buddies about whether it was a good idea or not.
That friend was Bob Einstein. All I knew of Bob Einstein was that he was Super Dave Osborne. And that the idea of me getting writing career advice from him seemed ridiculous.
And it was.
And it was.
I called him on the phone. He was, as he always was, exactly like you see him on tv. Blunt. Dry as the desert. And thoroughly and fantastically dismissive of the chance that I would have a career writing in Hollywood.
"Look," he said. "About this contract? It doesn't matter. Option it, don't option it. What you need to know is: they're not gonna make it. Nothing's gonna happen. If someone's gonna give you ANY MONEY for something you wrote, just take it."
I wish I could remember everything he said. But it was so wonderfully cynical and sage and steeped in this idea that his high school buddy's kid was clearly just another asshole who had pipe dreams of this writing thing and would be lucky if the $2500 check cleared.
I always loved him for it. Especially as I've gotten older, and realized he wasn't trying to discourage me as much as he was trying to give me real advice--that this place is a black hole where smartass kids go to die of encouragement. And he wasn't going to be part of that.
I'd seen him a few times through the years, running into him at a Lakers Summer game, or even visiting him at his house with my parents. He never acknowledged I had managed to scrape out a career here. He was always more interested in mocking my dad. I loved that about him.
RIP Bob Einstein. Thanks for never believing in me.
