Eat Wheaties! A Wry Novel of Celebrity, Fandom and Breakfast Cereal

FOREWORD

A Note About The Movie Based On This Ridiculous Little Book

Writers are the worst.

Actually, for the sake of accuracy, let me correct that: Writers and lawyers are the worst. It’s a photo finish, a dead heat.

That said, I’m a writer. And a lawyer.

And trust me, I’m the absolute worst.

There are people who would put their hand on a Bible and swear to that.

There are people who could say that and pass a lie detector test. Of course, lie detector tests aren’t 100% accurate, but still.

I’m not going to bore you by detailing about how terrible lawyers are because I have nothing profound to say on that well-trodden subject. Here’s what I will say, though: if you go to a dinner party and are seated next to a lawyer by the host, get ready for a loooooooooooooooong night filled with a lot of self-congratulatory horse crap.

Same for writers, now that I think about it. Just different self-congratulatory horse crap.

Unlike lawyers, whose skunky reputation is as well-known as it is well-deserved, people tend to hold writers in high regard, perhaps because of some romantic notion that writers are super-duper sensitive and articulate and have some deeper understanding of the human experience than everyone else.

That’s garbage, complete and utter garbage.

Writers are just like you and you and you, except they probably bathe less and complain more.

You see, writers like to complain.

About what?

About every goddam thing.

If you’re a writer yourself, or if you know a writer, this is not news to you.

And if you have ever dated a writer – or went so far as to god-forbid marry a writer, as my beautiful, dark-haired, gray-eyed wife (now ex-wife) did when she wasn’t thinking straight – may God bless you for your sacrifice. My beautiful, dark-haired, gray-eyed wife (now ex-wife) knows all about how writers complain. (If she’s reading this, all I can say is, Hey, sweetheart, thanks for putting up with all of my complaining. I’d also thank her for our perfect daughter and for being a great mother, and for the party she threw for my 50th birthday, but that’s not the point I’m trying to make here.)

What do writers complain about the most?

1) Other writers, who don’t deserve the acclaim or notoriety or money they get because, you see, any successful writer is typically just a talentless, lucky hack in the mind of every other writer.

2) Publishers, who have rejected the writer’s submissions because they apparently wouldn’t recognize genius and true creativity if they were hit over the head with a frying pan– unless they actually choose to publish the writer’s submission, of course, in which case they never seem to offer enough of an advance to the writer, the cheap bastards.

3) Editors, who are always making unreasonable demands of the writer like, you know, spelling words correctly or using proper grammar or insisting that things actually make sense.

4) Agents, who never seem to return the writer’s calls quickly enough and take too large of a percentage of any income the writer might make.

5) Whoever designed the book jacket for the writer’s book, which never seems to have the writer’s name in large enough letters.

6) Book reviewers, who don’t understand the writer.

7) Book buyers, who really don’t understand the writer or else the book would be an international bestseller.

8) People who write reviews on Amazon, who really really really don’t understand the writer – unless they give a book a five-star review, in which case they are insightful, sophisticated, and probably exceptionally good looking, to boot.

9) Movies.

Does that last one surprise you?

Well, let me explain.

Writers complain about movies all the time.

If you ever watch a movie with a writer, be prepared for a long talk afterward (probably over coffee because writers love coffee more than they love their mothers) about how the movie would have been worlds better if he or she had written the script because he or she knows so much more about character development and plot and dialogue and gobbledy-gook like that.

And writers always complain that their own books haven’t been optioned for a movie because, well, it’s pretty clear that the writer’s book would be perfect for a movie, probably one with Tom Hanks and Julia Roberts, but Hollywood wouldn’t know a good story if it bit them on the rear end, right? Right?

But if their books are adapted into movies, then you’d better look out – because that’s where the complaining really starts and where it gets seriously unpleasant.

They ruined my book!

They changed everything!

They missed the point completely!

"I don’t know why they even bought the goddam rights to my goddam book if they were going to make that goddam piece of crap."

I’ve heard those very words from friends of mine whose books were adapted for movies, and I’ve read article after article about other writers who were beyond unhappy with the film adaptations of their books.

Well, they made a movie based on this ridiculous little book, which was originally called The Locklear Letters. They’re calling the movie Eat Wheaties!

Exclamation point at the end.

It’s a better title.

It should have been the original title of this ridiculous little book, now that I think of it. Damn.

So now it’s the title on the reprint of this ridiculous little book.

So here’s what I have to say about the film adaptation of this ridiculous little book: I LOVE IT!

All capital letters, exclamation point at the end.

The entire experience with the movie was a joy (a word I typically only use when talking to my friend Joy or if I’m eating a Mounds bar that someone put a nut on top of), and the finished product is something I can (and will) watch over and over again until the day I die (it will be a heart attack in my office, mark my words) because, in case you weren’t paying attention, I LOVE IT!

I’m thrilled to be able to say this, because it was a long and twisted path that led to this movie finally getting made. And there were no guarantees I would love it.

When The Locklear Letters was first published back in 2003, before I even met my beautiful, black-haired, gray-eyed wife (now ex-wife) and before our perfect, curly-haired, math whiz of a daughter (Paige) was born, there was some surprising interest in a movie based on the book. I say it was surprising because it’s an epistolary novel. I mean, how do you make a movie out of letters?

Pretty easily, apparently.

And the names that were bandied about for the lead character (the star-crossed but good-hearted Sid Straw) couldn’t help but make me smile. Ben Stiller, Will Ferrell, etc., etc., etc.

Imagine me smiling.

A production company purchased the film option. They were going to make a movie! It was going to be great!

Then nothing happened.

Imagine crickets chirping (chirp-chirp).

Then someone else purchased the option. They were going to make a movie! It was going to be great!

Then nothing happened.

More crickets (chirp-chirp-chirp).

You can repeat this process a few more times, throw in more crickets (chirp-chirp-chirp-chirp-chirp). Eventually, I stopped thinking anyone was going to make a movie based on the book. And I would have been fine with that. Really.

Then one morning I got a phone call at my fancy law office (the one where I will have my heart attack, mark my words). It was from a screenwriter and director I didn’t know, a guy named Scott Abramovitch. It seems he was a friend of my friend Evan Shenkman. And, apparently, Evan had sent him a copy of this ridiculous little book years earlier, and Scott had always wanted to adapt it for a movie, but someone else always had the option. He asked me if I’d let him know when the option was available. It was available right then and there. Eventually we had a deal, then there was a draft script that was remarkably true to the book, and then Scott was talking about casting the movie. He needed to find the right person to play Sid Straw. From time to time, Scott would share the name of an actor who might be interested. I won’t repeat their names here only because I don’t think I was supposed to know about them.

Scott and I became fast friends, meeting for lunch every week or two to talk about baseball and movies and about actors he was thinking of to play Sid. They were funny and memorable lunches, but I must admit that after a time I began to wonder if he’d be able to find the right actor to play Sid Straw. And without that, there could be no movie. And, again, I would have been fine with that. Really. Then one day Scott emailed me at my fancy, heart-attack law office and said, Tony Hale wants to do it!

Exclamation point at the end.

Being a fan of Arrested Development and Veep, I loved Tony Hale, but I had never even thought of him as Sid Straw until the moment Scott sent that email. It was perfect casting. Perfect. (And you’ll agree when you see the movie.)

The rest of the casting came together quickly after that (Paul Walter Hauser, Danielle Brooks, Sarah Chalke, Elisha Cuthbert, Alan Tudyk, Kylie Bunbury, David Walton, Robbie Amell, Hayden Szeto, etc., etc.), and soon they were set to start shooting in different locations around Los Angeles, where I happen to live. And that meant my perfect, curly-haired, math whiz of a daughter (Paige) and I could visit the set on evenings and weekends. (By the way, Paige and I both like to paint on weekends, and you can see some of our paintings hanging on the walls in Sid’s home in the movie.)

My Hollywood friends warned me that, as the author of the source material, I would be treated like very old trash when I showed up on the set. It couldn’t have been further from the truth. Everyone treated me and Paige like royalty, as they say. And we couldn’t have had a nicer time just hanging out with the cast and crew, and watching the filming.

A few of my friends flew in from the East Coast to be extras in the movie (Mike Callahan, Mike Andresino, Stan Smith, Dee Drummond). You can see them in the courtroom scene and in the reunion scene. (You can see me, too, if you’re interested – I have a non-speaking role as Dr. Katz in the reunion scene. Yes, that’s my bald spot you’re looking at.)

I could go on and on and on.

And maybe I will if you ever get stuck sitting next to me at a dinner party.

A number of months later, I was able to see an initial cut of the movie. Then, later, a revised cut. Then another revised cut. Then another one.

I’ve enjoyed every cut of the movie. I really do love what they