So a strange thing has started to happen these past few weeks, ever since the planned HBO adaptation of my book, “Showtime,” has hit the news.
Namely, I’ve been repeatedly contacted for jobs.
From actors.
From choreographers.
From musicians.
From stunt people.
“I would love to work on the show …”
“I’d be perfect for …”
“I’m made for …”
On and on.
But, alas, here’s the reality: I just wrote the fucking book.
Yes, from Adam McKay on down, the people working on the show have been gracious and lovely and wonderful. Seriously, it’s been a terrific experience. But am I calling shots? Offering up casting tips? Piecing together a plan?
Um, no.
I just wrote the book.
