This Is My Life Starring Moss Jervins

Everybody's favorite forgotten star of screens large and small, and also now those plasma screens and satellites and so forth. That's me—I'm the favorite forgotten star etc. I now have this wonderful BLOG and I have turned over a new leaf and want to tell you about my new life and I also want to hear about YOURS but please be nice.

Sunday, March 27, 2005

Easter musings

So maybe—this was the '70s—it was a pretty horrible idea to MARRY MY MANAGER but—*you know*—it was 'THE SEVENTIES' and things like that happened all the time. Still do. That's showbiz. You can tell a star that these manager marriages never really work out in the end, read a whole long list of e.g.'s—but in the end, if that's what s/he wants to do, that's what s/he's going to do.

I'm bringing this up because—oh I don't know. I was just thinking about old Double-G. Those sparkline eyes. Those snow-white teeth. Those—SHOULDERS.

It's all water under the bridge. We still see each other now and again—at the gym, at the Starbucks, whatevah. We smile. We nod politely. Sometimes we say hi. Hard to believe we were married, even if it was just for three weeks.

Still.

I read some poetry today, part of my "soul improvement" crash course. I don't remember the name of the poet. Some of the stuff was pretty ace, a line about how the "leaves in the alley/move around like mice" when stirred up by the wind.

But then of course I started thinking about MICE and then started hearing things, probably mice, creeping around behind the radiator and whatnot.

I need a personal assistant (to handle my business-related stuff) and a personal servant (cleaning, cooking, driving).

Won't someone put me in a movie? I think maybe I could star in a crime serial—that would be good. I could be the detective or the evil genius. It really would hardly matter.

Put me in, coach, as John Foggerty (sp?) sang.

I'm ready to play.

Today.

Also yesterday, and tomorrow.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Precious moments

I saw a bird today. Something about the onset of spring really puts me in a misty frame of mind. I find myself looking back, thinking about the past, even a bit more than usual.

Maybe it was the breeze against my face, saying "I'm cold now, but I'll be warm soon!" Maybe it was the white socks of the Catholic girls milling around the sidewalk in front of their school (so bright! I am almost blinded by their socks! How do they get them so clean?) But suddenly I'm borne aloft on the magic wings of the mighty bird Memory, back, back, to a Southern California soundstage in the late 1980's.

It is twilight on the cyclorama (I have always preferred such vistas to the more arbitrary skies found outdoors in other parts of the country, and also in California). The season, perhaps late summer (why do I think of this now? Perhaps it has come to stand for all the fineness of summer to me. And I have a hard time thinking of Spring and Fall as real seasons. No, for me the seasons are Summer and Winter. The other two so-called "seasons" are either the credit crawl for one or the overture to the other). Around my legs, children. I have never cared much for children. But I am an actor, and I think even an observer with an inside knowledge of the art would be hard pressed to see in my smile, as I gaze down on these young people, anything but the most solicitous love -- my eyes begin to moisten as I recollect the tenderness of my expression. I wish you could see it. Perhaps someone could track down the image and host it on a fan site. I'm amazed at some of the people who have fan sites when I don't, really amazed.

But I wander from the story. I have conjured the dusk, I have mentioned the children, I will indicate the setting: a back porch, the real America. Through the swing door, wearing pearls, carrying a pitcher oflemonade comes...

Barbara Billingsley.

Yes, that Barbara Billingsley. We exchange a glance, then some words, words about lemonade, I do not remember the exact words, then we laugh and take a lingering drink. I have never cared for lemonade, it is either too sour or too sweet, but I have had people tell me that I drank that lemonade like there was no tomorrow, or as if tomorrow might hold no lemonade, and as if that were a bad thing.

Cut.

Then we do it again. And again. And again.

Until finally Barbara turns and whispers to me, "If I have to drink much more more lemonade, I'm going to pee a river." On any other lips, this remark might have seemed coarse, but not on Barbara's. Even if she had used much fouler language, it may well not have seemed coarse, though I can't say for sure.

What a classy lady.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

I love this show HOUSE

I love this show HOUSE — I don't really like hospital shows, got sick of em after costarring for three years on WARD SEVEN which was a popular soap in its day . . . I don't like the *real* hospital either, natch — anyway — this new show HOUSE is on right after AMERICAN IDOL and it's terrific.

I mean—I want to be on the show! Put me on as a patient! Or maybe I could be a visiting doctor from — Florida or Mexico or Germany? I can do accents. Ja. Si. Yeaaaahhhh.

Javol.

Oui oui.

Ah oui.

Comme çi, comme ça.

Bueno.

Guten morgen.

I can do 50 situps at one go. People say I look about 10 years younger than my real age, plus makeup brings it down another 5-7 years.

Call meeeee....

Monday, March 14, 2005

Close but no "Closer"!

Anyone seen the movie CLOSER?

Would you believe it if I told you that I was supposed to be in it?

In the role that went to Julia. More power to her — she's America's sweetheart. Well-deserved title. Though I wonder if her role in this Mike Nichols film "shocked" her audience.

I don't know. Maybe not.

Now here's the funny thing, or at least the ironic thing.

Ramona, my NEW agent, was reading the papers the other day — not the trade papers — the NY Times — I don't read newspapers because the ink is annoying — anyway — she told me that there was a Times story about how she BLOGS and also (on the same day!) a story about Wil Wheaton (you know him from STAND BY ME and one of the STAR TRACK series) and how he *also* BLOGS.

I said, WHAAA? Because I didn't tell her that *I* BLOGGED yet, and thus we missed the opportunity to have the Times right about my BLOG and thus make it into a trend piece (if you have three things = a trend). So needless to say I said au revoir to Ramona. She didn't seem overly concerned. I thought she'd come crawling back to me but she didn't/was too busy. (I called her the next day and now she's my agent again. I sent her flowers also.)

Anyway the funny or ironic thing here is that Wil and Rosie are actually the other two people who were supposed to be in CLOSER with me. Wil was in the Jude Law role, and Rosie was slated for the Natalie Portman role. I forget who was in the Cliff Owens role — I think it was someone like Paul Geamati. It would have been a great movie.

As is...welllll.....I respect what Mike's done, and it was definitely very watchable, but maybe didn't have quite the impact ours/my version would have.

But like they say, "It's all good."

Peace out

xx
Moss

Friday, March 11, 2005

Oh gee Oh joy

I remember costarring with Don Ameche and Dom DeLuise in THERE'S A FLY IN MY SOAP. They were both sweethearts. For some reason Don would always call me "The lovely Miss Joyvins," pronouncing Jervins like that. Dom would always crack up. I didn't think it was that funny but I suppose it was harmless.

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Hello, it's me.

Hey.

It's me, Moss.

Moss Jervins.

You remember me.

I was in FORTUNE ISLAND and MATCHING MATCHBOOKS. I was in THE ILLUSTRATOR'S WIFE. I was in THE RESURRECTIONIST.

Moss *Jervins*.

J-E-R-V-I-N-hey where're you—

* * *

For the past three years—who am I kidding, *five* years—that's been the story of my life. El story de mi vida. Agents ignoring me, publicists giving me the cold shoulder, so-called friends ditching me when my aura of loserdom got to be too damn much.

"Cold shoulder" is a misnomer. Antarctica would love to have shoulders like those. What with the glaciers melting and so forth because of the ACID RAIN and ozone and all that.

What do the penguins do?

I mean once upon a time it was but the matter of a moment to call up old Mossie and paint the town so red it hurt. The limos, the champagne. I had a driver named Georges and a Boston terrier with a mother-of-pearl collar and a condo in Redondo Beach and a shrink at $275 a session. I was always game for a role, big or small.

Then that horrible Anselm St. Loganberry started the dreadful oh it's too horrible I can't even think about it.

Sorry.

Anselm St. Assh--- started that wretched rumor—you never think these things are going to add up to anything and then all of a sudden they *do*.

And just like *that*, everyone thinks the worst of you. The gossip sheets have a ball. You're dropped from guest lists. Nobody calls. Even your shrink doesn't want to see you—and you're *paying* the sonuvabitch.

Worst were the dozens of hateful little WEBSITES purporting to have inside dope, incriminating photos, even AUDIO CLIPS of me slagging the bouncers at the Orange Pekoe Lounge.

Well, that actually *was* me slagging them—I mix up my s's and t's when I've had one too many—but still.

It's the *principle* of the thing.

What did Moss Jervins ever do to hurt anyone?

Answer: Nothing.

Nada.

Zip.

Zilch.

Nil.

Nuttin'.

But my friends left me. My fan club dried up. The president—Gabby McWhorter, then a senior at Wyvern College—shipped all the back issues of the official Moss Jervins newsletter, *A Rolling Stone Gathers Some Moss*, back to my agent.

Rather, my ex agent.

Shipped it COD.

I had to pay.

That was the low point, or the beginning of the low points.

Gabby you little tramp.

I'll vent about it later.

Now is a time for renewal. Deep breath. OK. NOW. I just want all y'all to know that the Moss of yore is back, and all is forgiven.

See, I need to reclaim the me that made me happy.

And, more importantly, the me that made *you* happy.

It's time to move on.

I think this BLOG will do the trick.

Won't you join me on this journey?

xx,
Moss

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