Writing on Ellen Was My Dream Job

I had a dream job many years ago. It was to write on Ellen. I believed that, what is enclosed down below, was a witty and creative way to get that job. I sent this letter to Ellen Degeneres, in 2003, during season one of her show. I decided on a 'six degrees of Ellen' theme, because she loves playing games. For the life of me, I can't imagine why I never received a call back.

p.s. I'll probably get busted for using some of these photos. Ho hum.

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Objective: Bringing young Jewish female writers back to daytime.

December 15, 2003
Ms. Ellen Degeneres
c/o The Ellen Degeneres Show                                                                         
(ADDRESS HERE)

Dear Ellen,

I’ve never written a letter like this before, except the one I wrote to the Bay City Rollers asking them to jam at my Sweet 16 party. Other than that, this is my first. It’s been my life’s ambition to work on your show. Yeah, I know it’s only been on for four months, but what a dramatical sentence.

As a fellow writer and comedian, you know how important inspiration and motivation are to the creative process. If that’s absent, well, how many times can you re-organize your photo albums? Or Google everyone in your address book? So, when you find a person and a show that you connect with, that makes you want to work harder, that speaks your truth… sorry, too much therapy… you do whatever it takes to be in the company of such a person and show because you know that it can only make you stronger, faster, and smarter. 

It would be a real shanda if I didn’t make the effort. Not to test ones potential and living a life of ‘what ifs’’ is far worse than risking looking like an idiot. As my grandmother Ruth used to say, “Keep your feet firmly planted on the ground and keep reaching for the stars.” Oh, poo, that was Casey Kasam, wasn’t it? 

My talents and experiences have taken me from musical theater to film school, to stand up and writing features and everything in between. I’ve written and produced for The Animal Planet and I’ve unclogged a certain actress’s bathtub drain while working as a Production Assistant.

In addition to the aforementioned industry experiences, we have a lot in common. I hate to fly as well. Although traveling business does makes it bearable. If I’m going down, I’m going down watching a movie on my private screen, laying prostrate, drinking — which could make me choke but hell, I’m going to die anyway, so what’s the big whoop? I eat fast too. My father eats even faster. He has that stray dog mentality. Your dog is Lucy. Mine was Ricky. He died a few months ago. I miss him.   

I didn’t ask my agents for help because I’m tired of putting my career in someone else's hands, and they don’t care as much as I do. By meeting me, you’ll see how much of an asset I can be to you and your show. I’m a hardworking, funny, bright, spirited girl, who puts the ass in asset. 

Lest you think me right off the turnip truck, let’s play a game I like to call, ‘Six Degrees Of Ellen,” to put your mind at east. Come on, it’ll be fun.

David S. Rosenthal. (These Friends of Mine/Ellen) His father, Mort, married my ex-husband and I. Nice job, Mort. David wasn’t even at the wedding. Now that I think of it, he didn’t send a gift. Eh, my ex got him in the divorce anyway.
Mort the Rabbi (in the middle)

Karen Kilgariff, a writer on your show, used to write on Hype. My friend, Chris Williams, was on that show. We grew up together in Chappaqua, NY, home of sex scandals. His sister, Vanessa and those nudie pics, (what a summer that was) and now it’s home to Bill and Hillary. Nuff said.

Jack Plotnick. (Ellen) We’re in a show called, In Their Own Words- Readings from Celebrity Autobiographies. I read Joan Lunden’s autobiography, where she informs us how she stacks her clothes every night in the order that she puts them on each morning, “That is, panties on top, then bra.”
Jack Plotnick (right)

The Todd Sisters. (If These Walls Could Talk 2) They hosted a bachelorette party for my writing partner, Alexandra Wentworth, who you know. I was hired as her head writer on a pilot. But if you don’t like Ali, then neither do I.
Me and Ali  (photo credit- People Magazine)

Ric Swartzlander. (The Ellen Show) He used to be a writing client at a small literary agency, where I worked. I didn’t like my boss but I liked Ric, unless he was mean to you, in which case, he’s dumb.

Sally Kirkland. (Ed TV) In 1989, I was a PA on her film, High Stakes. Can’t say much about her. I was busy flirting with the Teamsters. They'd want me to work with you, and you know how persuasive they can be.
Sally Kirkland

Pete Yorn. You love them and my ex–husband’s band performed with Pete. When I come in, I’ll bring a CD.


THANKS FOR PLAYING…
A special thanks to whoever took the time to read this letter and then passed it on to you.

Best,

Pass The Beano

My boyfriend and I attempted a new way of eating (not a diet) several months ago. It’s Tim Ferriss’s, The 4-Hour Body. It was a lifestyle experiment. In an almond nut shell, you are not allowed to eat whites or sugars; rice, potatoes, bread, pasta, sugar, fruit, honey, agave, and fruit juices.

What does that leave you? Not much. However, for someone like me, who is not a foodie, and who doesn’t like to make eating an event, this is the perfect ‘way of eating’. It’s repetitive, takes all the guesswork out of what to eat and it includes all of my favorite foods.

You’re allowed eggs and on occasion, cottage cheese. Perfect! We could have any and all vegetables (in any amount) especially spinach. But the main food item is beans. Beans, beans and then more beans. Beans are recommended with at least two of your four daily meals. I’ve since bought stock in Beano and Gas-X.

Allow me now to digress. The following was previously published several years ago and I include it here, not only to go along with the Beano theme, but as a wonderful illustration of my ability to turn most things into a performance. Enjoy.
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The owner of the Pilates studio, Janice, asked me to train a friend of hers. I was flattered that she thought of me. When I saw her in the studio, I said, “Hey, thanks for the referral. I’m training Scott tomorrow. He had to change his original session time because of an audition.”

Yes, I emphasized the word audition, and added some sarcasm for good measure because he had said it in such a way that I was supposed to be impressed. Please. I felt like stepping out of my Pilates instructor mode and put some of my well stretched toes onto the ‘stage’.

Janice smiled, “Well, he’s a very successful commercial actor.” Uh, oh. It’s on.
ME: "I did commercials.” Janice took the bait.
JANICE: “You did? You would be great in commercials.”
ME: “If I had a dollar every time someone told me that." Of course it was actually only one real commercial that I did, but why bother her with the details. I continued. "I did the commercial thing for a while. And then the auditions got more and more inane. I’d go in and have to frown in front of the camera, or sneeze or crawl on the floor like a mouse looking for cheese. Then my dignity kicked in and I stopped.”

Janice was laughing and hanging on my every animated word, which was like shoving a coke whore’s face into a mound of white powder. It made me want to work harder and longer to sustain the high. “One of my last auditions was for Beano. I was so over it by then and I didn’t care anymore so I had some fun.”

The Pilates studio was instantly transformed into a comedy club and I grabbed the microphone out of its cradle.

“I stood with another woman, pretending to be in line at a cafeteria, walking past the imaginary food, deciding what we were going to have for our pretend lunch. The director yelled action. I took two steps and then I made a fake fart sound.” I demonstrated the fart sound for my audience. "It wasn’t the cliched, and childish, raspberry or cheek fart sound. My fake flatulence was more sophisticated and deeper, almost baritone sounding, and much more realistic. My audition partner didn’t know what hit her. I completely stole focus and chewed up the scenery. If memory serves me, the director did laugh. I don’t know how it was possible but I didn’t get the job.”

I thought Janice was going to fall off of the Cadillac (Pilates equipment) that she was sitting on. I brought the story home. “What? It was for Beano. It was totally appropriate.”

I’m not proud, but my adorable tale promptly started a five minute conversation, with the other trainers, about why people think farting sounds are funny and the farting games that are available online. I put my microphone back in it’s pretend cradle (I just wanted to do a quick 5 minute set) extricated myself from the high brow confab that I had spawned and slithered away. My job here is done.

To Facebook, Or Not To Facebook? That is the Question!

My dear friend Jill Effron, entertainment industry veteran and mom, has been kind enough to write a guest post for me today. Let's all welcome her with open hearts and wallets. I don't know where that came from. Enjoy!

So here’s the situation: new preschool, new moms. Suddenly, the moms you bonded with at the neighborhood playground over sleep training and strained prunes are now dispersed throughout different preschools. You’re back to square one, three years into your job as mom. It’s like puberty all over again. You’re insecure. You worry your breath smells like pizza because that’s the only thing you can eat cold when you’re in a hurry to get your toddler to school. You wonder if your outfit looks like you tried too hard or like the harried mom you really are. You wonder if they’ll find a sticker on your ass. It’s kinda like a funky game of “Where’s Waldo?” except it’s a sticker and your ass is like the size of two coloring books these days.

Somehow, someway, you wind up bonding with another mom at the water table, a table built to piss off germaphobic moms like me. One of you suggests a play date. The other one says, “That would be great!” A week passes by at the water table and only smiles have been exchanged. Suddenly, one of you remembers that one of you suggested a play date. This is where you do the obligatory, “Oh right, baby brain, we were so gonna put something on the calendar,” followed by nervous laughter.  You go back and forth on dates that would work until you land on one. 

Once the date is settled, you decide to do a little recon on the mom. Back in the day, you would call upon the local rumor mill to get the dirt on someone. These days you can look them up on Facebook and see the kind of company they keep. Well, you can hazard an educated guess, because let’s be honest, most people talk to about 1% of the people they’re friends with on Facebook. The other 99% are there to make them look popular.

Now, do you friend your play date pal on Facebook before the date? Or does it send the wrong message? Or do you do it after the play date? Or is that suggesting that the date went well and we should take our play date relationship to another level—say, the, “Let’s just go out as moms and leave the ankle weights behind,” level?

What do you do? Do you Facebook before the date? Or three days after the date so you don’t seem desperate? Or do you wait for her to friend you? I really think this is worse than, “Will he call?” Just when you thought you’d never have to worry about that feeling again. Thank you, Facebook. Thank you.

Jill Effron is a work-from-home-mom of two darling kiddies. Before succumbing to motherhood, she spent ten plus years working in every genre of television. Outside of the TV world Effron wrote, directed, and produced plays and award winning short films. Once her daughter was born she started a personal chef business that you can read about at http://blog.foodservicewarehouse.com/catering/2010/09/.  The only writing she does these days is Facebook status updates and Shutterfly captions. She hopes to return to the blogging world. She hopes you like this post. She will now stop talking in third person.