Internet Tough Guy

Turns out, occasionally, people actually read things that I write on the internet.  Which is a good lesson for everyone out there, you are responsible for your actions and your words, even if it seems like most of the time they get lost in the sea of words that is the internet.

Yesterday I got called out for picking internet fights twice. First, by Major League Baseball.  Since the off-season has begun, I was making fun of @MLB’s attempts at staying in the conversation and not losing followers: “Look @MLB, I’ll tell you like I told @NBA in the summer.  It’s the offseason, until someone gets arrested, take a little twitter break.”

Not the funniest tweet in the twitterverse, but I think it’s funny how the official twitter accounts of the major sports never do tweet about it when their athletes get arrested.  It’s also funny how many professional athletes get arrested.  Again, not the funniest joke in the world, especially if it takes a paragraph of explanation.

Then @MLB hit me with a pitch (or would that be a “twitch?”) and replied that baseball was a 24/7/365 conversation, referred me to their website, and burned me with “ask fellow humans.”  Holy shit!  MLB just tweeted at me.  Well, whoever’s job it is to tweet all day on behalf of MLB anyway.  I didn’t mean to piss you off, Major League Baseball, I’m just a funny guy trying to be funny.  I love baseball.

Then, the blog that I wrote in response to New York Times blogger Bruce Buschel’s blog “One Hundred Things Restaurant Staffers Should Never Do,” titled “One Hundred Things Restaurant Customers Should Never Do,” was actually read by none other than Bruce Buschel himself.  Which would be great except that in the blog, again trying to be funny, I called Mr. Buschel a “cockbag” and explicitly dropped F-bombs on him.

He replied to my blog by saying that he actually thinks I would enjoy dining with him and that my rules for customers were good.  And here I am picking an internet fight with him.  Now I’m the cockbag.

I guess there’s my lesson learned.  Try to be funny and insult people, even if you think they would never actually read what you write (I’m no Ashton Kutcher on Twitter and I’m convinced my blog is only read accidentally when searching for “Mike Farrell” from MASH)  and you should be prepared to face the repercussions.

Major League Baseball, I’m sorry.  Bruce Buschel, I apologize for directing years of waiting tables angst towards you, there are two sides to the exchanges that happen everyday at restaurants and you obviously understand that, perhaps better than I do.  If it’s any consolation, I don’t think I can think of fifty more things “restaurant customers should never do,” and I read your blog of 51-100 for restaurant staffers and they’re all pretty spot-on.

Mea culpa.

For the internet, the adage must go, “Even with barely any power whatsoever, comes great responsibility.”

One Hundred Things Restaurant Customers Should Never Do (Part One)

Recently writer Bruce Buschel wrote a blog called “One Hundred Things Restaurant Staffers Should Never Do (Part One),” in which he listed 50 things that he thinks waiters shouldn’t do while waiting on customers.  To be fair, many of the items listed are right-on, good, albeit basic points of service, and guidelines to being a good waiter.  There are some misguided ones, the main point that he’s missing being that waiters don’t often decide how they are going to wait on tables, much of that is decided by their managers (i.e., when to take away plates, saying their name while greeting a table).  A point which Mr. Buschel may understand and he may be grouping management into “Restaurant Staffers,” however the distinction is not made and unfortunately, this may inspire customers to blame waiters for many things that are simply the policy of the restaurant.

A bigger mistake is assuming that waiters, unless employed by you, give a fuck what you think.

There are career waiters out there for sure, most of them in very nice restaurants, people whom we actor/waiters call “lifers.”  There’s no shame in being a career waiter and many of these points of service are very important to the lifer, if obvious and learned a long time ago.  The rest of us though, those who are waiting tables while we pursue a career in the arts, go to school, or were recently laid off from our “real” jobs, just simply shouldn’t be asked to give too much of a fuck about your gravy.  A little bit, sure, in that you ask for gravy and you receive it, but beyond that, you’re deluded.  You’re deluded because you wish that we would give more of a fuck about your gravy, but alas, the proper amount of fuck giving has been reached once you receive your gravy.

Seems harsh, but let’s face facts, Mr. Buschel.  I wonder how many classy, expensive restaurants don’t already abide by every rudimentary rule that you laid out – probably, let’s say – all.  So that leads me to believe you’re talking about all the other burger joints, lunch places, hip spots, wine bars, etc. in the city.  Wherein a lot of the waiters, and it seems like this is the thing that really pisses you off, are not in fact at the end of their life story and have landed in a place where they need to abide by strict guidelines in order to serve assholes like you, but are rather making money to pay rent as they continue on their life’s journey, and are merely doing a good job serving food to people.

The worst thing about Bruce Buschel’s little whiny “I’m a customer so rub my nuts” rant is that he probably didn’t write it for actual restaurant staff.  Unless it was to piss off actors like me, which he’s got some kinda vendetta against (did you actually get beat up by an actor in high school?  What were you – a cheerleader?).  Seems like he actually wrote it to empower other needy childish customers who think they’re owed some kind of royal treatment because you show up at a restaurant.  It’s New York, everyone eats at restaurants.  Even waiter/actors.

So sure, Bruce, your points of service are fine, good, and pretty basic.  I’m sure you’ll be a fabulous dickhead manager one day whom everyone will hate and the kitchen guys will call a colorful nickname like “pandejo.”

So with as little bitterness as possible from years and years of dealing with cocksuckers like yourself, here’s my own fucking list:

One Hundred Things Restaurant Customers Should Never Do (Part One)

1. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re “my boss” and I work for you.  You’re just a guy who wants food and drink, deal with it.  You want power?  Ask for a promotion.

2. Never mention the tip (unless asked).  Don’t even say “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”  Because it’s classless and most of the time, you don’t.

3. Don’t snap, whistle, clap, or yell to get a waiter’s attention.  You got a bad waiter?  Shit happens.  I’m sorry.  A simple hand gesture to an employee would be fine though, they’re not dogs.

4. If you ask me what my favorite thing is or what I like to eat, be prepared that I might be a vegetarian or something and that I’m not you.  If you don’t want to hear about me then don’t ask about me.

5. Don’t dare to leave zero tip unless something happened that was so crazy bad that no one would blame you.  This is New York City.  Let’s be real.

6. Don’t act tough if you’re arguing with a waiter unless you actually think you could fight him in the street.  This is New York City.   Let’s be real.

7. If you’re splitting the check and one pays cash and one pays the difference in credit, make sure you look at the total amount and realize that no tip was taken out of the cash yet.

8. Don’t walk into a restaurant pointing and darting to some table.

9. Don’t try to make insane substitutions.  Most of the time it’s a matter of cost.  You can’t substitute a piece of salmon for fries.

10. When your companion says “No avocado,” don’t chime in and say “I’ll have his avocado.”  It doesn’t work like that.  We’re not on a ration system.  Rather, ask your companion, “Would you mind getting the avocado on the side, actually, so I can have some?”  And we’ll put it on the side.

11.  Never touch a waiter.  No excuses. Do not do it. Do not brush them, move them, wipe them or dust them. (Borrowed liberally from Buschel’s list).

12. Never interrupt a waiter as he is taking another table’s order.

13. Don’t make light of the fact that you ordered a bottle of wine with a screw cap, it doesn’t mean the wine is inferior quality.  If it comes in a box, that’s a different story.

14. Zinfandel is red.  White Zinfandel is bad.

15. Don’t get weirded-out if a waiter is trying to upsell, that’s their job, it’s what their boss requires them to do.  Just state plainly and proudly that you’re okay with tap water.  Most of the time, so is the waiter when he goes out to eat.

16. If a waiter is at your table, don’t do little hand signals or wave your glass in front of him.  Use your words.  You’re an adult, use your words.

17. If the restaurant doesn’t automatically bring you bread, don’t say “Do we get bread?”  Ask if you may have some bread.  You’re not entitled to bread everywhere you go.  But most places will offer bread upon request.

18. Don’t sit down at a table and then get up and start moving tables and chairs around because you have more people coming or you feel you need more space.  Ask politely and the staff should accommodate as best they can.

19. Know what kind of restaurant you’re in.  If you’re in a diner, expect diner service, if you’re in a dark, hip club expect a model to ignore you.

20. Don’t be a dick.

21. Don’t write about specific restaurant employees online.  That’s really messed up.  Unless you are prepared to fight them (See Thing #6).

22. Don’t make fun of or be turned off by or otherwise care about a waiter who says “ya’ll,” or “you guys,” or “no problem.”  There are thousands of waiters in the city from all over the world, we’re all gonna have different ways of talking.

23. Look around at your surroundings.  When it’s busy, please try to understand that a lot of waiters have O.T.S.  Other Table Syndrome.

24. Never, ever order water with a “bunch of lemons and sugar.”  Especially when the place sells lemonade.  Ever.

25. Understand that not all restaurants do “seat numbers,” so sometimes people have to ask who got what.  Most nice restaurants do, but otherwise, deal with it.

26. Don’t ignore the waiter.  It doesn’t make you more powerful or superior to anyone.

27. Don’t ask how something on the menu is and then judge the waiter’s response.  Take it at face value.  If he says “good,” don’t say “Ahhhh, you don’t seem too convincing.”  Shut up and order something.

28. Don’t be sleazy to young female waiters.

29. If you’re visiting from Europe or Japan, read a guidebook or google “tipping at restaurants in America.”

30. If the waiter puts down a regular and a decaf coffee for you and your companion and you ask “Are you sure this is decaf?” and he says “Yes,” don’t ask how he knows. Like the waitress on Seinfeld said, “You couldn’t possibly understand the intricacies of my job.”

31. If a restaurant doesn’t have a certain thing, there’s nothing the waiter can do to make it appear.

32.   At the end of the night, or around 4pm, a lot of times waiters are set to leave work and continue on with their lives – sure, not your problem.  However, if you are paying a check, give your credit card, get it back, and sign it – you can stay there talking as long as you want, but just please for the love of God sign your check so the waiter can go home and kiss his girlfriend.

33. A lot of times, your waiter will be sipping red wine out of a coffee mug while at work.  You got a problem with that?  You try working in a restaurant.

34. Realize that waiters are sometimes terrific problem solvers.  But we can’t solve the problem if you’re too busy being dramatic about something that went wrong. (This isn’t an audition). (Fuck you Bruce Buschel).

35. If you can’t afford to tip 20% tip, don’t go out to eat, or go to more inexpensive places.  If you’re just a bad tipper, don’t expect the best service in the world when you come back.

36. There’s nothing wrong with making fun of yourself if you’re being high-maintenance, it lets the waiter know you know that he knows and unless the waiter’s a dick, it’s probably fine.

37. If your waiter greets you and asks, “How are you doing?” don’t say “Iced Tea.”  That’s not an answer to that question.

38. Don’t be pessimistic and phrase questions like, “Is the salad really gigantic or is it a little dinky salad?”  Maybe it’s just the right size, asshole, ever think of that?

39. Don’t order items that are not on the menu.  If you can’t read that’s fine, just ask questions politely and we’ll give you answers.

40. Don’t be a dick.

41. Just because you don’t understand what a menu item is, don’t make fun of it, you’re probably only making fun of yourself.

42. Don’t tell a waiter to smile.  It’s not your place.  I’m at work.  Do you smile constantly at work?

43. If your waiter greets you and asks, “Would you like something to drink?” don’t say, “I’m waiting for someone.”  That’s not an answer to that question.

44. If a restaurant is busy or at a peak time, they are not going to sit two people at a table for four.  Deal with it.

45. Overused jokes are fine, but just so you know, here’s one: Upon finishing everything on your plate, “I hated it, obviously.”

46. If you want another tea bag it costs money.  Sorry.

47. Don’t assume you’re smarter than the waiter just cause you work some office job.  Perhaps you’re just more willing to compromise.

48.  If you’re on your cell phone at my table, I’m just gonna let you finish up that conversation before I take your order.

49. If your waiter greets you and asks, “How are you doing?” don’t immediately get quiet and look down at the menu.  That’s not an answer to that question.

50. Don’t go out to eat with Bruce Buschel.  He seems like a total cockbag.

What I Learned from Guy Ritchie and the Gypsies

In a recent article in Esquire magazine about Guy Ritchie and his badass ways, the hard-living director says that gypsies will steal from you but they will also teach you valuable lessons.

I think I get that.  Actually it’s one of those things that at first seems simple, then complicated in its morality, then only really comes to light when a gypsy steals from you.

His example was that a gypsy will break into your home and steal something, but along the way teach you a valuable lesson that your home shouldn’t be so easy to break into.  Or something like that.

In New York City, we got a lot of gypsies.  They come in all varieties here, as does everything in New York, but they will definitely steal from you.  And as every New Yorker knows, they teach you quickly how to protect yourself from thievery or trickery.

Of course, the two teenage Brooklyn hoodrats who pulled a gun on me and took my phone and money don’t get a pass for teaching me not to walk down dark empty streets at night.  Because when a firearm is present, they lose their cute little gypsy status and turn into future convicts (or cops).

And whatever teenage hoodrats stole my laptop and CD’s the night I moved into my old apartment in Williamsburg, Brooklyn (at that time this particular block was still pre-yoga studio and present-Crown Fried Chicken), I guess maybe they taught me a lesson.  Namely, get a dead bolt, from day one.  And, if you’re a bunch of dumb white kids in your 20’s moving into a somewhat dodgy neighborhood, don’t broadcast it to the world and then all leave for hours to go out drinking.  Are they gypsies…eh, I still might reserve gypsy status for less dangerous criminals.

But this morning, fresh after reading Guy Ritchie’s gypsy philosophy, I bought my coffee from a true Jersey City Gypsy.  Having very limited options in Jersey City as to where I can stumble to at 8:30 in the morning for a good cup of coffee, I finally noticed that this Cuban restaurant, La Conguita, serves breakfast.

I have lived in Jersey City for only a few months now and I’m still discovering the nuances.  One “nuance” is that there is a definite class struggle here between longtime residents, mostly blue-collar and thick-accented, and recent transplants from Manhattan or Brooklyn of the “Oh-my-God-I-love-brunch-they-have-the-best-hummus” variety.  Being a poor actor/waiter whose family is originally from about ten minutes from here in North Bergen, I don’t personally see myself involved in that struggle.  But because of the way I look, it’s not really up to me.  And let’s face it, I do love brunch and hummus.

So when I finally found someplace that was open and served coffee to go, I walked in and ordered a large black coffee.  The little punk behind the counter mumbled “three dollars” and then took my five-dollar bill.  At first, I didn’t think he said “$3.00.”  I thought I must have heard him wrong.  But when he brought back $2 in change and then slunk back over to other customers at the bar, I realized I had been charged $3 for what was obviously cheap coffee.  The sign on the board says “$1 Espresso,” which would lead me to believe that they don’t actually charge $3 for a regular cup of coffee.  At that point I could have called him back over and argued with him, but instead I decided to leave.  I really just wanted to get back home, not haggle with the guy at the Cuban restaurant over a dollar or two.

So clearly I occasionally am going to be dragged into this class struggle that is going on in downtown Jersey City, no matter how poor I actually am.  This guy profiled me and figured he could get away with charging me $3 for a big cup of shitastic coffee.  And in his gypsy defense, he could.  So I could be angry at being taken advantage of.  But I remembered what Guy Ritchie said about the gypsies.  They’ll steal from you, but they’ll teach you valuable lessons.

So what lesson did this young splotchy-bearded Jersey punk gypsy actually teach me?  When there’s a struggle going on around you, know what side you appear to be on and watch out for sneak attacks?  Be mindful of what is happening when exchanging money for goods and services?  Or maybe, in New York City and the surrounding areas anyway, don’t be afraid to be an obnoxious jerk when necessary, no one else is.

Thanks Jersey City Gypsies.  And thank you, Guy Ritchie.

What’s in Wyoming?

About a month ago I had the pleasure of traveling to Wyoming, my girlfriend’s homeland, for a week’s vacation-slash-wedding.  Before leaving New York City, some of the looks I got when I told people I was going to Wyoming were that of pity, sometimes outright disgust, at the very least confusion.

Of course, I can appreciate a general disconnect from Middle America.  We still hold them accountable for the 2004 Presidential election after all.  But despite knowing little about Wyoming, as many people in New York do, I started to grow a little annoyed at people’s reaction to my getting out of New York for a week and going somewhere new.  That “what’d you-lose a bet?” look.  The cynical New Yorker look that maintains superiority over all other parts of the country.

Make no mistake, I love New York City.  But come on.  There’s a whole world out there.

The day before I left, my former boss, who is from Queens, gave it to me the worst.  “Wyoming?!  What’s in Wyoming?!”

What’s in Wyoming.

Like I said, my boss is from Queens.  I don’t know who out there has ever been to Queens.  But for those that have, I’ll say it again.  My boss is from Queens.  Queens is basically like one big apartment building in between Long Island and Manhattan.  No offense to you Queens people out there, but I’m just saying.  “What’s in Wyoming?”  What’s in Queens?  Queens!

Wyoming is unlike anywhere I’ve been.  If you ever get a chance to explore that part of the country I highly recommend it.  From the first mountain I saw, the question echoed in my head.  From the first time I looked around and saw nothing but land and sky, not another human being for miles, the question echoed in my head.  I saw animals I had only previously seen in books.  I saw Native American drawings on the sides of mountains.  I ate food cooked over an open fire out in the woods.  I saw more stars than I had ever seen before.  I saw waterfalls, I hiked up mountains, I swam in a huge lake surrounded by sky-scraping mountains, I swam in a natural mineral hot springs pool, I met amazing people who are connected to the land around them, I even had a Native American vision (sobriety status withheld).  “What’s in Wyoming?”

Despite being a New Yorker, I’ve never felt so small.  So to answer the question, here’s just a pictorial sample.

And Now For a Series of “Dry County” Jokes.

Inspired by a Facebook friend who lives in a dry county, here are some “If I moved into a dry county” jokes, or apt for twitter: #ifimovedintoadrycounty:

If I moved into a dry county, I’d have a showdown with the sheriff at high noon.  And smoke a lot of pot at high 12:30.

If I moved into a dry county, I’d challenge the county government to a game of gay chicken and prove why alcohol is necessary.

If I moved into a dry county, I’d go to the local college and call them all nerds.

If I moved into a dry county I’d buy everyone a round.  Of ammunition.  With which to overthrow the government.

If I moved into a dry county, I’d ask them what great people in history have been without booze.  And they would probably say Jesus.

If I moved into a dry county, I’d do a bourbon dance with the locals.  It’s like a rain dance only more desperate.

If I moved into a dry county, I’d throw a keg party.  Except the keg would be filled with anger.

Introducing NABS – National Audience Behavior Society

After viewing Hugh Jackman in the video at the bottom of this post, and after seeing movie after movie and play after play with people all around me talking and texting and having phones go off, I have decided to start NABS, the National Audience Behavior Society.

Our goal is to draw attention to a growing problem for upstanding citizens who enjoy seeing public performance or film, mother fuckers who talk.

From where I sit, in New York City anyway, it seems as though people think that talking during a movie or play is now part of the experience.  Audience misbehavior is running rampant in our theaters and it has to stop!

So…that’s pretty much it.  Obviously, this is only the beginning of the society, so I don’t know how exactly we’re gonna “NAB” people, but I’m starting the society anyway.

I guess we’ll focus on cell phones and talking, those seem like the two biggest problems.  So who wants to JOIN?!?!  Let’s NAB em!

NABS.  “I’m not naturally a shusher.  Your ass makes me a shusher.”

Review of Jay-Z’s Blueprint 3.

Here is my real-time-while-playing, totally unasked-for review of Jay Z Blueprint 3:

1. Death of Auto-Tune

Awesome!  Hey, you know that voice corrector thing that people have been using to sing when they can’t sing?  It’s been declared dead by the king of rap himself.  Seriously, the next rapper who has the balls to try it after this will be laughed at.  But then again, that doesn’t mean Jay Z should actually sing.  Especially not the “na-na-na-na-na hey-hey-hey goodbye” song. It was overdone when they sang it at high school basketball games when the opposing team’s center fouled out.

Jay-Z warns his political connections, this album may not be appropriate for them. Sounds like an attempt to regain street cred after palling around with the president.  Hey Hova, it’s okay to be friends with the president now, for the first time in hip-hop’s history.  Own it!

2. Run This Town

Pretty good, pretty good.  Kinda funny how Kanye brags about drinking Reisling.  Will Reisling become the new Apple Martini?  Will the clubs in Chelsea have to start supplying Reisling?  I assume he means a German Reisling, not a dry one.  I hope the club owners know the difference or people will throw chairs.

3. On to the Next One

Swizz Beats is cool, but this kinda sounds like a B-Side.  As in, when listening to the whole album, you will most likely push skip and go “on to the next one.”

4. What We Talkin’ About

I kinda zoned out during this song.  Might not actually be a boring song, maybe I just have a short attention span.  I think he invited everyone to the White House with him, which is nice.

5. Thank You

Did he just say he was gonna “9-11″ rappers.  Too soon to use 9-11 as a verb?

6. Empire State of Mind

This is the jam.  I don’t know why it didn’t come out in May, it would have taken over the whole summer.  Especially here in New York.  We like to maintain our superiority over the rest of the world.

Rap might still be the only art form where it’s okay to brag so much.  Jay Z calls himself the new Sinatra and claims to have made the Yankee hat more famous than a Yankee can.

I think it’s funny that rappers have always been so obsessed with Robert De Niro.  I mean he’s one of the best actors in history, but I feel like he’d be baffled by how many times he’s been mentioned in rap songs.  I think maybe it just rhymes with a lot of things.

7. Real As It Gets

Pretty good song to throw on at a summer bar-b-cue.  But again, summer’s over.  So I guess we’ll have to throw it on when everyone gets drunk at the Christmas party when we’re tired of brownies.

8. Off That

Is this where he refers to Beyonce as his ho?  I read that somewhere and I think I just heard it.  He sounds like Eminem in this song, dissing random people like Rush Limbaugh.  As for the song itself, yeah, it’s pretty good.

9. A Star is Born

Interesting roll call of the top-selling rappers of the last ten years.  Do you think Andre 3000 likes being called the “male Lauryn Hill” though?

Basically, this song is about being a super famous rapper, seemingly consistent with the rest of the album.

10. Venus vs. Mars

This song really reminds me of L.L. Cool J.  Not in a good way.

11. Already Home

Daaaamn this song is hot.  This is my second favorite so far to Empire.  “H.O.V.; I got my own lane already.”  LOL HOV, LOL.

12. Hate

I heard this song already before the album.  It’s good, it’s good.  Kanye and Jay Z are the tag team champions of pop/rap for sure.

13. So Ambitious

Another hot song.  This lineup of tracks 11, 12, & 13 might be the best combination punch of the album.  I’m inspired to do something ambitious.  One idea the song gave me, try to sleep with two sisters.

Also, refreshing that rappers are spelling things correctly these days.  I’m not sure how “Onyx” would have spelled “ambitious” on their album “Bacdafucup,” but this is nice to see.

14. Young Forever.

What?!  Is this really happening?  Is it cause of the end of “Napoleon Dynamite” that Jay-Z’s one and only throwback to the Diddy Era of remaking 80’s songs into pop chart rap songs is “Forever Young?”  I mean, I guess it’s not baaaad…but I can’t see myself ever playing this song on purpose.

15. Reminder.

Solid song, solid song.  Jay-Z says “only The Beatles” are ahead of him.  If the Rolling Stones had a lyric like that it would prevent a lot of fights.

Overall, Blueprint 3 is pretty good.  Nothing groundbreaking, but definitely some jams, definitely some songs I will be putting into the soundtrack of my life.  I think Jay-Z has to try to go somewhere else with the themes of his songs though.  He’s the King, he knows it, he reminds you of it.  So what’s next?  We’ve heard the Blueprint (3 times now), so what happens after the house has been built?

Tips for Agents Looking for Actors

Normally I’m so, so super busy that I can’t spare a minute to write to all you agents out there looking for new clients.  But I’ve just seen so many agents’ missteps and mistakes that I cannot NOT write down some tips!

First, do NOT ever, under any circumstances, call me on the phone!  I only have a cell phone.  No secretary, no assistant.  I just got my Blackberry and me.  So there’s no way that I can take the time to answer your calls.  BUT – if you DO call, please cut to the chase.  Don’t give me all this hoopla about how you’ve wanted to be an agent since you were a little kid and your Aunt Margaret thinks you’ll be a superstar Broadway agent one day.  We all know why you’re calling.  I’m an actor and you’re an agent.  You NEED fairly attractive medium-build white guys with short hair that can play late 20’s who have a ton of non-paying credits.  I KNOW!  Just say politely, “Hey Michael, sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for a new client.”  Then let’s get off the phone quickly, send me a postcard about your agency, and let me get back to the busy life of an actor.

Second, get my name right! If you’re gonna take the time to send me a letter and pay for the postage, make sure you have my name right! It’s M-I-C-H-A-E-L. When I see someone misspell my name on the envelope, it makes me feel you do not know who I am. Like you don’t care who you rep, as long as he’s an actor. Then not only do I throw it away, I instruct my cat to pee on it and if my cat doesn’t have to pee, I give her tons of water, force her to drink it, hold her down (which sometimes takes the help of my girlfriend), and wait until she finally drips something out on your submission. If it sounds harsh, bear in mind, I get hundreds of letters from agents EVERY DAY. I can’t let all of you represent me.

Third, please don’t contact me until you’ve represented some legitimate, steadily working professional actors.  I can’t possibly be expected to put my acting career in the hands of someone who is just starting out as an agent.  And then when you hit me up – show me what your clients have done – and please have at least one client on a network tv show.  Otherwise, I’ll make the cat pee again!

Fourth, make sure your picture looks like you.  No offense all you beautiful agents out there, but some of you are OLD.  Fine if you’re old, maybe I could use an old agent.  But don’t send me your college headshot photo that you took in the mall back when you still wanted to be an actor.  Show me the person that is gonna walk through my apartment door in Jersey City IF I call you in.

And lastly, remember that I am here to work for you.  I am merely an actor.  I show up on set, say a few lines, play a little childish game of make-believe, and make TONS of money.  You are the real earner out here – so have some pride in yourself!  Stop apologizing for everything, stop shaking when you meet me, stop stumbling over your words when you see me at a party.  In fact, here’s a little tip for agents:

Every day wake up and before you leave the house to find new clients, look in the mirror and say, “My name is ___  ____, I am an agent, and I apologize for nothing.”

Okay, now back to my work as an actor.  Agents, you know what they say, if you can do anything else, do it!  If not, keep sending me your stuff…persistence WILL PAY OFF.

Michael Ferrell

Actor

Grandma Got Run Over by Email

My Grandma is easily and has always been one of the most important people in my life.  I’m very close to my Grandma and anyone who knows my writing intimately knows that grandmas consistently pop up as a theme or a character, including but not limited to, the short play I wrote in 2005, “Grandma Fuckin’: A Christmas Story.”  When Grandma heard about this title, she said “Grandma Effin ‘?  Well I don’t know what that’s about.”  I assured her it was just a title and the actual play was relatively clean, about a girl who suspects her boyfriend of looking at granny porn on the internet.  She seemed to handle that okay.

My Grandma is not a prude.  She said so herself in the email she wrote to me which has spawned me to write this.  My Grandma is content pulling the slots in A.C., hanging out in a Northern New Jersey beauty shop with foul-mouthed relatives, and I’m sure she would still be smoking cigarettes if the doctor didn’t tell her otherwise.  Growing up, other grandmas knitted terrific winter garments for my friends, but only my Grandma made up a dance to Busta Rhymes singing “Oh my God, yes, Oh my God,” while letting us call her by her rap moniker, Granny D (recently updated to Granny Dizzle, and as of last year, Granny Deezy ).  She’s still kicking, pushing 90, and she’s still no prude.  But recently, she got a little more comfortable online.

The short play “Grandma Fuckin’: A Christmas Story” ends with the boyfriend explaining to his girlfriend, “You know, it’s the internet, it’s a crazy place, dangerous and scary. But I’m not.”  I wrote that back when people were finding high school friends on myspace, but I guess I still agree with that.  The internet is still a little wild west to me.  Anything and everything is here, if only virtually, available in just a few clicks.  And so recently, my Grandma let her fingers do a little exploring on the web to see what her grandson, me, has been putting out into the world.

Now, I’m a comedy writer.  I grew up listening to Eddie Murphy, Eazy-E, watching tons of R-rated movies, being in the theatre for God’s sake.  I’m not a PG-13 writer/actor.  The things I put out into the world are not going to always be family-friendly.  But when Grandma starts digging in to videos, blogs, etc. and sees some of the more colorful things I’ve put out there, Grandma starts to get a little uncomfortable.

Still not a prude, Grandma is sitting at home, on the computer, locked into a world that exists on screens and with keyboards like all of us do sometimes, and reading and watching her beloved grandson turn into Andrew Dice Clay.  It’s not that Grandma doesn’t understand what I’m doing, it’s just that she worries I will hurt my career by being “juvenile” and “raunchy.”  Which is understandable, especially if you didn’t grow up knowing every word to Adam Sandler’s “At a Medium Pace.”

But all of this sounds pretty normal to me and we can at least partly chalk it up to a 60 year age difference between me and Granny Deezy .  After smoothing it over with her and talking to my parents about it, the thing that struck me about the whole situation is that after a few years of emailing, Grandma has finally discovered the thing that has proven evil about email – the “I have something to discuss with you and so I’m going to lay it out here on my computer and organize it carefully and tell you how I feel and then press send.”  The the thing that scares me isn’t that my Grandma doesn’t appreciate my masturbation jokes.  It’s that she used email to have this conversation with me.

In the past, I have had “fights,” “arguments,” “serious discussions” with loved ones over email.  Days go by and no one talks to each other, we wake up, receive a carefully laid-out angry email, make some coffee, stew about it for awhile, complain about it to our roommate, think about how to respond, compose a first draft of carefully worded points, go eat lunch, revise the draft, then finally click send:  “John – I read your last email carefully and now I will respond.  But first, I resent being called a childish brat…”

I’ve had these email fights with co-workers, friends, girlfriends, even strangers, and by trial and error I’ve come to the conclusion that they suck.  Despite our quick and easy adaptation to email as a primary mode of communication, it’s still a relatively new concept.  Before email, say 15 years ago, if I had a show on TV that I wrote that was dirty and juvenile and crude, and Granny D saw it and wanted to let me know how she felt, she would probably call me.  By calling me, we would have a discussion, back and forth, right there in the moment.  We would ideally listen to each other and try to understand each other while we were having this conversation.  After all, Grandma wasn’t like pissed at me, she just wanted to tell me that she didn’t think I needed to be as crude.

I know what you’re thinking, perhaps she would have written a letter and mailed it to me.  But honestly, in the culture of letter writing, would Grandma have written out longhand how she felt, put a stamp on it and sent it?  And even if she did, I think the tone of a letter to your grandson would be different to that of an email.  Emails are quick, sterile, electronic.  They are more immediate than letter writing; this is how I’m feeling, so here it is, send.

This might sound hypocritical from someone who is fully immersed in a world of email, facebook, twitter, wordpress, youtube, grandmafuckin.com (just kidding).  But I really think that all these things in the virtual world need to be controlled.  We are humans, we are better than the things we create, we control them, they don’t control us.  If you find yourself fighting with strangers on a message board somewhere, get out, log off, forget it’s there, go outside and take a walk.  If you are in the midst of an “email fight” with someone, just call them, meet them in person, tell them how you feel in the moment.  It’s tempting to express your feelings over email.  It’s so easy.  You can both tell that person how you feel and avoid confrontation at the same time.  Resist the urge.

Still, I emailed my Grandma back a few minutes later.  I explained to her that I knew where she was coming from and that I am just trying to make a career for myself as a comedy writer.  The worst thing I could imagine doing is disappointing my Grandma, so I tried to explain to her that I always attempt to earn my vulgarity and build an intelligent and clever house for juvenile jokes to play in.  She emailed me back again and we pretty much squashed it.  I don’t blame her for emailing me how she felt, I completely understand why she did.  I just feel like Grandma is about to walk down a path I don’t want her to walk down.  Let the business people and clients and office workers out there have their carefully worded email fights.  For me and Grandma, let’s talk about it over crumb cake and coffee.

Not My Grandma, Just a Funny Picture

When in Wyoming, is this really even a fucking choice?!