First of all, congratulations! When Dave told me he was going to pop the question, I was really happy for you two. I instantly got him into a playful headlock; “What are you doing you dumbfuck?!” I asked jovially. “You’re so fucking stupid, I can’t believe it,” I laughed. Then I bought him shot after shot as we talked about what a great move this would be in the right direction.

We discussed the many, many flings that we each had since we were young men. How meaningless they all were! Lacking all the joy of commitment, the wonder of emotional togetherness, just pure, free sexual encounters. And we drank some more (as you may have noticed when he came home and vomited on the couch). And I know we’ve covered this already but I want to reiterate that it was I who put that girl’s number in his pocket, as a goof. But I now realize the goofs are completely over and done with and it’s onwards and upwards to a goofless existence.

I also just want to say: you’re getting a great guy. I’ve known Dave a long time and trust me, this is the best time to be his fiancee. If for no other reason, he’s already “been there done that” with so many things, you don’t have to worry about him trying anything new. The last six months it’s been rarer and rarer for him to express any desire to do blow in a public restroom or smoke pot to cure a hangover while at work.

I do have one small favor to ask you. As you know, Carrie and I have been together about as long as you and Dave. But when she heard about your engagement, I kind of implied you had been together much, much longer. Also, with the most subtle implication, I kind of suggested that Dave was a very lucky guy, not just because of the many things that make you an awesome potential wife, but also because you’re a tad bisexual and open to introducing college-aged females into your bedroom. Again, this was just an implication, but just in case Carrie asks about these things, please understand that I’m just trying to keep her expectations realistic about our own relationship. I’m not asking you to lie, but it would be helpful for everyone if you could find it in yourself to go along with these certain implications.

So congratulations again and I can’t wait for the wedding! It’s going to be great to get all the guys back together and have one last wild night with Dave at the bachelor party before it’s all over. We promise to deliver him to you the next day in one piece and keep the drunken wrestling to a minimum (though I can’t make any promises!).

Your new “brother-in-law,”

Chet

When I was a young woman, I decided that I wanted to save the world. I wanted to do something important, nay, I wanted to do the most important thing in the world. So I, naively, went to medical school.

I thought maybe I’d go to Africa and help starving children. Or I’d go into research, help find a cure for cancer or AIDS. But as time progressed, I realized there was something out there that was the most important work I could do on this Earth.

Around age 38, I heard a call from God. God called down to me and said, “Margaret.”

“Yes, God?”

“The most important thing that you can do on this Earth I have given unto you is to instruct out-of-work actors in New York and L.A. on how to have careers in show business.” And so I left the medical profession and this is what I’ve dedicated myself to since hearing from God that afternoon.

And so, my out-of-work actor disciples, I say unto you, I can give you the career you want as an actor, even a movie star. Yes, I have the secrets. All you have to do is send me a check for $1,549 and begin your journey from unemployed to Oscar recipient.

“But Margaret, I don’t have that kind of money, I’m unemployed,” you might say. Then I guess your career is not important to you. I understand. I mean, not all of us have heard a call directly from God. So I understand if you think this is not the most important thing in the world – that you find work as an actor – as I do. After all, I gave up a career in medicine and let go of what I thought was important work in order to dedicate myself to this worthy cause. So if you’re not able to part with a little money, I guess you do not share my dedication. And my belief that this is, again, THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THE WORLD.

Some of you may wonder what secrets I know. Well, of course, I can’t tell you until you sign up, but I will give you an overview of some of the things we will do in my one-day course.

We will look at headshots and I will tell you why they are bad. I will ask how much you’ve spent on your headshots, at which point I will reiterate to you, that you working as an actor is so critical to the Earth, that you should not be scared to spend a lot of money on pictures of yourself. And I will guide you by recommending a photographer who takes pictures of people’s faces better than anyone else, my boyfriend. He charges one thousand dollars. A small price to pay, you will think as you purchase your first mansion in Bel Air.

We will talk about the people who make up this important industry: the agents, the managers, and the casting directors. The most important thing you can do as an actor is MEET THESE IMPORTANT PEOPLE. And I will guide you by showing where and how you can pay money in order to be in a room with them for three minutes at a time. Conveniently for you, I operate a studio for just such a thing. Again I will stress, if you aren’t willing to part with a few thousand dollars in order to meet the most important people in show business, then I can only guess you don’t share my dedication to your career, and that’s a shame.

My one-day course will end with a party. That’s right, you read that correctly, a party! We have one hour at a club in midtown Manhattan, from 6-7pm, to do the most important thing an actor can do, NETWORK. There will be real live industry professionals in attendance, the movers and shakers of the business, such as: an assistant from Carol Robinetti Casting (Orgy, the Musical!-Fringe Festival ’06) and BIG-TIME MANAGER Eric Johnston (also a headshot photographer who is starting his own theatre company, we hear…shh!). And of course, me-Margaret Robinetti, professional acting career and life coach. The club charges a $15 cover, but it includes one free well-vodka drink (practically pays for itself!). And just to let you know in advance, we do have to be out of the club at 7:00pm, but that’s plenty of time to shake hands with the top dogs of the industry!

So, my out-of-work actors, when I see your long, sad faces around town, I know that God has lead me in the right direction. What I’m doing is the most important contribution I can make to this Earth. Movies and TV shows give people happiness and they need actors to make their stories come alive. Come with me on your own personal journey to stardom. It can happen! Send the check today.

Your Bright Future,

Margaret Robinetti

Hi guys. Most of you are probably surprised that you’re receiving this letter typed on a standard sheet of printer paper as opposed to a small pad written in sloppy pen ink. However, I’ve decided since I am leaving my current job as a waiter in your local burger joint, I’d write you a little letter.

The purpose of this letter is to list for you a number things that you should never do, since apparently a good deal of you have never been properly trained to be a normal fucking adult.

Number one. Don’t ever mistake yourself for my “boss.” If you’re looking for more control in your life, I suggest you ask your own boss for a promotion.

Number two. Don’t walk into a restaurant pointing and darting to a certain table like a little kid claiming the toy he’s gonna play with.

Number three. When your companion says that she doesn’t want avocado, don’t chime in and say “I’ll have her avocado.” That’s not the way it works, for we are not on a rationing system.

Number four. Zinfandel is red. White Zinfandel is bad.

Number five. Don’t make fun of a bottle of wine because it has a screw cap. That doesn’t mean it’s inferior. If it comes from a box, however, you should make fun of it.

Number six. When I’m at your table, don’t use hand signals and wave your glass around in the air or point to something on your table. You’re an adult, use your words. I do understand words. Especially when they’re followed by the words, “Thank you.”

Number seven. Don’t ask me if you get bread. You don’t “get” bread because I’m not your mommy. You may, however, have some bread to accompany your meal.

Number eight. Manage your expectations according to what kind of restaurant you’re in. If you’re in a diner, expect diner service. If you’re in a very popular, very dark restaurant, expect a model to ignore you.

Number nine. Don’t be a dick.

Number ten. When you need something, please understand that I may have O.T.S. Other table syndrome.

Number eleven. Don’t ask me about a certain menu item and then judge my response. I’m not auditioning menu items for you. Don’t talk about how “convincing” I am about chicken fingers.

Number twelve. If you order decaf coffee and I bring it to you, don’t ask me how I know that it’s decaf. Like the waitress on Seinfeld said, “You could not possibly understand the intricacies of my job.”

Number thirteen. A lot of times during my shift I will be drinking red wine out of a coffee mug in back of the bar.

Number fourteen. When I ask, “How you’re doing today,” don’t say, “Iced tea.” That’s not an answer to that question.

Number fifteen. Don’t ask a question like, “Is the Cobb Salad really gigantic or is it a dinky little salad that won’t fill me up?” Given those two choices, you leave me wondering why you ever leave the house at all.

Number sixteen. Don’t be a dick.

Number seventeen. Just because you don’t know what a menu item is, don’t make fun of it. You’re probably only making fun of yourself. “What’s air-u-goo-la?”

Number eighteen. Don’t tell me to smile. I’m at work. Do you smile constantly at work everyday?

Number nineteen. When I ask, “How are you doing today,” don’t say, “I’m waiting for someone.” That’s not an answer to that question.

Number twenty. Overused restaurant jokes are fine, but just so you know, here’s one. Upon finishing everything on your plate, “I hated it, can’t you tell?”

Number twenty-one. If you sit down at my table and you’re on your cell phone, I’m just gonna let you finish up that conversation.

Number twenty-two. When I ask, “How are you doing today,” don’t get quiet and look down at your menu. That’s not an answer to that question.

And finally number twenty-three. In 1972, 16 survivors of a plane crash in the Andes Mountains had to eat the flesh of their dead friends in order to survive through freezing temperatures until two of them gained the strength to miraculously scale snow-covered mountains to seek rescue. I’ll go check on your frittata, it should be ready any minute.

Sincerely,

Your Waiter, whose name you either didn’t know or wouldn’t remember the next day anyway.

Please stop talking to my girlfriend. She’s told you repeatedly that she has a boyfriend, yet you continue to harass her. She’s even offered to accept your friendship despite your aggressive behavior, but you’re clearly only interested in stealing her from me.

Now, I understand that to you, I may be a nameless, faceless roadblock in your conquest to have sex with a pretty girl, but I assure you, I am a real person. I have a family, a job, an apartment, and a dog. My girlfriend, whom you have met, is out with her friends tonight because one of them recently got a divorce. Why don’t you find her? I’m sure she’d be an easier target.

As for me, I am stuck working late here at the warehouse, unloading a truck. I get paid time and a half, and I can’t really afford to turn it down. Hey, we can’t all be rappers, as you may find out yourself one day if your career goes where I think it’s going. I may work in a warehouse, but I’m a good guy. I don’t hit my girlfriend, I’m there for her when she needs me, I take her out to dinner, I never forget our anniversary. And I’m not bad looking either. I’m a catch, Positive K. In fact, if you and I got to know each other, you might actually want to be friends with me. And then think of how you would feel after spending so much time trying to convince my girlfriend to leave me and sleep with you.

I don’t write this letter because I’m scared my girlfriend will go for it. She’s loyal and good to me. Also, she has herpes and that prevents her from sleeping around, even before I met her. So please, Positive K, stop talking to my girlfriend. She’s telling you she has a man and what you’re doing isn’t cool. I’m also sending you your CD, The Skills Dat Pay Da Bills, which I will now have trouble listening to without thinking about how this night went down. I do think it’s interesting though that “The” is spelled correctly but “Dat Pay” and “Da Bills” is spelled with “D’s.” I’ll be honest, I don’t get it.

From,

Mitchell Friedbaum

Oh to have been born in Milwaukee. Or Kansas City. Or even Boston. Anywhere but New York. Then I might not have been handed down this curse of being a fan of the New York Yankees.

Last night marked another year of disappointment. After winning the World Series last year, the Yankees were given the simple task of repeating, despite a slight decline in pitching this year. And much to our dismay, we only made it to Game 6 of the American League Championship Series. Failure. Utter failure.

Sometimes I wish I could change teams, but being a New Yorker, I’m afraid I have no other option in the Major Leagues.

I know most of you out there feel the same way, as the Yankees are “America’s team” and most people love the Yankees first, their hometown team second, but it’s especially hard for those of us in New York City. Year after year we struggle to win, to beat the big guys like Tampa Bay and Toronto, not to mention Babe Ruth’s team, the Red Sox of Boston. Year after year we make the best of our Bad News Bear roster and hope to make the playoffs. Following this uphill climb to the top is painful work for a fan, let me tell you.

It’s also tough being a Yankees fan because unlike every other team in baseball, we buy our players. I wish I had been born near Detroit, for instance, where they find young baseball enthusiasts, be they foster children or impoverished foreigners, and raise them as their own children, developing their skills as a player and a person through their farm system until they are ready for the majors. The Yankees, unfortunately, go through the less-popular “offering money to players” method of staffing. It makes us look bad, but there’s nothing we, as fans, can do about it.

So another year goes by for the Yankees, another disappointing complete failure. America mourns the loss of the Yankees squad this year, in particular America’s number one athlete, Alex Rodriguez, the new “Joe D” of today’s Major League Baseball. So straight from a real New Yorker to the rest of the country lucky enough to have a quality ball team near you, I sing with you the words of Paul Simon, adapted for today’s world. “Where have you gone, Alex Rodriguez? The nation turns its lonely eyes to you. Woo, woo, woo.”

Enviously Yours,

A Yankees Fan

Hello!  I am just writing to say hello and tell you that I hope you are doing well in Kentucky.  It seems like you are, from what I can gather by googling you.

Anyway, I just want to clear the air a little bit now that I’ve made it and you’re “back home” in Kentucky.  I want to make sure that my success doesn’t turn me into the kind of douchebag we always used to make fun of.  I like to think even though I’m a pretty big star and no longer have to work at BJ’s Wings, I have class.

I realize now that you and I were headed down different paths.  Right before I got the lead in “Ninja Hamster,” you were telling me about how your mom was sick or something and how you felt you needed to be in Kentucky.  Totally understandable.  Just unfortunate timing for you and your mom, because my path involved two things – nunchuks and a hamster wheel!  Turns out the next step on my path was renting a big house in the Palisades and yours was playing the fiddle down in the hills of Kentucky.

But I want you to know I haven’t forgotten our time together working at BJ’s Wings and our time together as struggling artists.  I still remember that play you did by Chekov (can’t remember the title) and you were so hot!  That’s what really kills me is that you were actually pretty enough to make it too.  But like I said, different paths.

Also, I never felt our age difference much when we went out, but after we broke up, I realized that maybe you were a bit young for me.  Then again, not long after you moved to Kentucky I started dating an 18-year-old girl.  That particular relationship didn’t last long, but a few weeks can seem like a lot when you’re just beginning your adult life.  Or a celebrity.

In pictures I’ve seen of you, via google image, it seems like you are getting better and better looking everyday.  Which is great, I don’t want to sound like I feel cheated.  I can’t help but wonder though, how good are you going to look?  Are you peaking now-ish or do you plan to get even better looking?  I hate to sound shallow, but as far as the 6 months we went out, did I get the second-best time period, like the Knicks when they had Latrell Sprewell, or did I truly get the dark ages, like the current Knick team?  (In your present state, you’re obviously the Knicks of the mid-90’s with Patrick Ewing at center.  Don’t let it swell your head too much though, they never won a championship).  Not that I’m complaining, I’ve since had my share of Lakers championship teams and even a couple 1990’s Chicago Bulls.  But just so I have a sense of where I came into the picture, which Knick team did I get?

Anyway, I sincerely hope that you are doing well down there.  And I want you to know that yes, I still think of you.

As for how I’m doing, besides the obvious success and everything, terrific!  I couldn’t be better.  There are a whole host of things I plan on getting into now that I’ve made it, including but not limited to: yoga, meditation, organic cooking, jogging, Buddhism (yeah, I’m talking Buddhism-happy), stuff to do with hemp, gardening, taking classes (on pretty much anything you can think of), politics, classical literature, and a lot of other amazing things.  It seems like there’s not enough time in the day to do all the many things that I am interested in these days.  But it also helps that internet porn is not as much of an issue as it used to be.

In conclusion, even though our relationship did not ultimately work out, I want to say that I’ve learned a lot in the past few years, about myself, about us.  And I realize you were definitely right about some things.  Especially the fact that I was, indeed, selfish.  And I definitely shouldn’t have cheated on you those times.  So if by some chance your mom is no longer sick or you want to taste what life could have been like, feel free to drop me a line and we’ll see what we can work out.  I’m serious about that.  And if it helps sweeten the deal, I have a hot tub now.

Love Always,

Chase Summers

Hey America, I love soccer. I grew up playing soccer all the way through high school and even though I also love baseball, basketball, and football, soccer is my favorite sport of all.

And yet I feel so empty inside.

Because soccer, or football, is the most popular sport in the world by far, and you can clearly see how it gives people from every country something fulfilling in their lives to balance out their day-to-day struggles, especially in those impoverished countries. But unless you, America, give it the red, white, and blue stamp of approval, it just doesn’t count.

America, the rest of the world needs you! We all know that without your approval, we wouldn’t have any good music, literature, movies, TV shows, celebrities, politicians, ideas, thoughts, or even food. Until you say “Yes, I will watch this,” it might as well not exist. We need you to say that about soccer.

We can even force everyone to call it soccer, if it helps you tune in.

We will even change the game according to what you like. Should each goal be worth 23 points? Done. Should we remove the position of goalkeeper? No problem. Should we do away with yellow cards, red cards, dives, flops, arguments with referees? Done, done, done, done, done. We could even talk about the possibility of using our hands. Maybe running with the ball.

Whatever it takes, America. It hurts us so deep inside when you tell your friends, “I’m sorry, I’ve tried, but I just can’t get into soccer. It’s so boring.” Please! Give us another chance! Maybe we can make the fields smaller. Or ban the English from playing for awhile.

Every time you say, “Soccer players are a bunch of pansies,” it tears us up. If you prefer, we can lose the gentlemanly nature of the sport. Stop helping up the other team when they fall, stop throwing the ball in to the other team after they give up possession for an injury, stop exchanging national jerseys after hard-fought matches. Instead, we will encourage more fights, punches thrown, benches cleared. We will offer Ron Artest a 20 million dollar contract to start at center fullback for the U.S.

The world has been working tirelessly for over a hundred years to audition their sport for you, so that one day you may deem it exciting enough to watch. Admittedly, maybe we’ve overdone it with how fanatical we get, with our flags and our noisemakers, but our hope is that you see how crazy we are about the sport and one day you will watch it and enjoy it, thereby making it something that is actually worthwhile for us to like.

Please, America, it’s so important to me that you like soccer.

Love,

A Soccer Fan

Hello!  It’s been a while, hasn’t it, fine people of Wilsonville?  Before I get started on singing your praises as a cute little place to be from, I want to explain why I haven’t been back since high school.

Most importantly, my parents moved back to New Jersey.  That should explain most of it right there.  They say now that it may have been a mistake to move the family to Wilsonville in the first place, but I’ve learned over time that no choice is the wrong choice, no matter how bad it looks from the outside, because it leads you to the next path in life.  I try not to think about what life might have been like had I grown up somewhere more cosmopolitan or closer in proximity to what I now consider “civilization.”  I instead, celebrate being from Anytown, USA, as it made me who I am today.

Secondly, I want to be clear that I did try to get back to Wilsonville, shortly after I starred in “Ninja Hamster” after college, but things didn’t quite work out.  See, “Ninja Hamster” was a kids’ movie, but I was no kid.  I may have looked 16 but I was actually 24 years old.  And while working with Wilsonville’s elected officials, we didn’t quite see eye-to-eye on the charity event we were trying to organize.  Besides the fact that I wanted an open bar (it was a party after all) and they wanted a crappy picnic in Bill MacAbee park, there was also an issue of money.  They didn’t seem to think the folks in Wilsonville had $500 a head to give towards a good cause.  I guess they thought Wilsonville was filled with a bunch of selfish, poor hicks.

Well I disagreed and the trip back “home” was canceled.  So now, six years later, I’m writing to let you know that I still love you, Wilsonville.

Let me first give a big shout out to all the teenagers and kids looking up to me in Wilsonville.  Yes, it’s true, I was once exactly like you. I was miserable.  Stuck in a small-minded place filled with small-minded people.  But I clung to my dream of getting out and becoming somebody.  And look at me now.  I believe it was during the press junket for the sci-fi thriller “The End of Space” when the waiter at this fancy hotel ran to McDonald’s to get me a Big Mac cause there was nothing on the menu I liked that I realized that I made it.  So to all you Wilsonville kids out there, be you trailer trash, white trash, poor white trash, or project kid, I just want to say, it is possible to get out and make something of yourself.

Next, to the regular folk.  The dentist, the fireman, the mayor, heck, even the schoolteachers, I want to say that your hometown hero has not forgotten his roots.  Wilsonville is my home and it’s a wonderful little place.  I moved there when I was 12 years old, attended Bison-Madison Middle School, then on to Cowpike High School, where I was heavy into drama (and girls!).  I wouldn’t trade my coming-of-age in Wilsonville for anything.  In fact, while playing the title role in the coming-of-age independent film, “The Redneck Poet,” I pulled from my experience growing up in “Dub-ville” quite heavily.

I don’t know if Wilsonville has gotten a good movie theater yet that shows “indie” films, but if it has, maybe some of you have seen “The Redneck Poet.”  In that film, I play the son of an abusive father and an alcoholic mother who sleeps with his sister and dreams of running away.  At the end of the film (spoiler alert!) he does run away.  It’s very triumphant and I urge you all to Netflix it, those of you who know what Netflix is.  Anyway, without my teenage years being spent alone on Friday nights while the kids with fishhooks in their hats went “cruising” and the slutty girls only seemed interested in guys with big trucks (I’m talking to you Misty Dawn – oh yes I went there!), I may not have been able to find the kind of misery that “Pete” felt deep inside.  So even in my art I am constantly paying homage to Wilsonville.

Now, after wrapping principal photography (sorry for the industry jargon) for “Ninja Hamster 2, Enter the Cage,” I am open to the idea of a hometown hoo-rah once more.  After years in L.A., I’ve come to realize that “everybody’s gotta be from somewhere,” and me – I’m from Wilsonville and proud of it.  So write to your mayor, your city planner, or whoever makes the decisions down there in Who-ville, and tell him that you want to have a party.  A celebration of someone from Wilsonville who made something of himself and is willing to give a little something back.

So please don’t think that I’ve forgotten where I come from.  I always like to think there’s a plaque with my name on it somewhere at Cowpike High, probably in the drama room, and some kid is staring up at it wondering if he too can get out and make something of himself in Hollywood or New York City.  Yes you can, young me, yes you can.

Your Hometown Hero,

Chase Summers

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. 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