2.25.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

Man, on Friday Ben and I were discussing crazy things we did as kids. He bred and raised dogs. Instead of doing that or perhaps something like collecting legos or special collector editions of musical soundtracks, I would eat for time. I know this doesn't make a lot of sense right now, so I should probably explain.

When my sister and I were kids, we were probably too young to spend time at home by ourselves. Our parents were divorced and worked, so the summer time found us with a lot of time just the two of us. I think I may have been eleven or twelve and my sister was three years younger. At the time it didn't seem like such a bad idea to leave us at home alone during the day because we were good kids. I guess my parents never minded too much the frantic calls we would make when one of us would draw a knife on the other as we were unloading the dishwasher or the times we would be using these walking sticks as microphones and then it would quickly turn violent and the sticks became swords and we would square off around the kitchen table. We would get so angry, and then one of us would get so scared that we would have to get our parents involved. We'd call them, probably crying, and explain the situation. More often than not, we would be ordered to separate and go to our individual rooms where we would cool out.

Those times of such heated anger would soon vanish from our minds because that heat would transform into hunger for both of us. Eventually, we would use the air vents in our bedrooms to communicate plans of reconciliation and celebration. We'd leave our rooms and meet in the kitchen. And here is where eating for time would come in. I am not sure what my sister would do because I always did this quietly because I knew it was kind of insane. During the summer, my parents would get us the food we always liked but couldn't bring for lunch at school. I cannot remember how many cans of Chef Boyardee pasta with meatballs I would individually consume. We would each eat an entire can, alone, for lunch. We were never really fat kids, but one summer my mom did mention that we should maybe think about cutting back after we went swimming one afternoon. I guess she saw the splash we made when we jumped in and how long it took for us to come back up. I'm just saying that sometimes even now I feel like I might be willing to give up being fit for my love of delicious and disgusting foods. And then I see Carnie Wilson or think about Luther Vandross (R.I.P.) and am reminded of the secret violence food does to us. Ok, really I just cannot afford gastic bypass and I also cannot imagine my stomach being the size of a walnut. Baby, I love to eat! But it needs to be in moderation because I finally look good!

After we would make up, and generally after we had eaten our can of the Chef and had at least two cans of Coke, we would pop open another can and perhaps also a container of sugar cookies. You probably know the kind. They're from your grocery store bakery, just plain old sugar cookies which should not be confused with the ones covered in icing and stay soft for ridiculous amounts of time. I found these cookies as an adult and have stories regarding them that are best left to their own letters. Well, I would guess I would start out with one cookie. I'd take the cookie and the Coke and plop down in the living room, ready to watch Ricki Lake before we'd switch it to Oprah. Soon that first cookie would become a second, sometimes a third. But many times it would become, "I am going to just eat cookies for the next ten minutes." I wouldn't limit myself to a number of cookies, instead I would limit myself to a set amount of time in which I would eat whatever I could until that time was up. Many other times I would extend it by two or three minutes, depending on what I was eating. Most notably, the extension added to timed eating would occur when I was really enjoying something that I couldn't really see the damage I was doing. I couldn’t see the damage until I had eaten an entire package of something, but this rarely happened. Only fat people eat entire packs of things. This included Doritos and Oreos. Ok, I lie. I am pretty sure I have eaten at least one package of those cookies-that-stay-soft in its entirety as an adult. I’m an emotional eater, be it happiness, or a little sad, or mostly just so fucking bored.

Apparently no one else in the world understands how fun or not eating for time can be. I mean, if you enjoy it don't limit how much you eat, just how long. The weird thing is that when I lived alone, I would often find myself sitting on the couch, bag of double-flavored Doritos in hand, and giving myself five more minutes of eating. Those MFs are just too good to only eat a handful. I know you will understand this. I had to get this to you before I forgot again. You will find attached a picture of the reminder I wrote so as to not forget. I hope you are well!

Jon

2.17.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

OMG please don't be mad at me. I started my new job today and I've been really busy.

Okay, for real, I wrote a letter on Sunday. It had an accompanying picture that is necessary for you to understand the letter. I can't figure out how to get the picture uploaded because I am a PC.

I don't want you to think I forgot about you. Perhaps we should get together to listen to that Anoop guy who's on American Idol. Do we think he'll be asked to sing at the Oscars this weekend?

We'll talk soon.

Jon

2.14.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

Today is Valentine's Day. Up to this point, I've always been one of those people who found Valentine's Day to be just kind of okay. I never called it VD or Single's Awareness Day. It seems like those people who do that are more likely to spend today pretending to be Carrie Bradshaw, wearing leggings, and probably eating at The Melting Pot with their other single girlfriends. I bet as soon as they might get into a relationship Valentine's Day becomes all lovey-dovey, pink, and purple.

We had great things planned out for today. First we were going to get another beagle. Our current beagle is incredible, which means he also has spoiled us with his beauty and charm. Beagles that need to be adopted all have one thing in common: they're all a little busted. Don't get me wrong, they are some really cute ones. There may have only been one really cute one, her name was Miss Punkin and she is now adopted. The rest don't look nearly as ugly in person as they do online. Some dogs just don't photograph well. I wish someone would tell that to Fantasia Barrino. We were kind of into this one, Rudy. He was a little too sad though. And he came from a breeder. Life is not so hard Rudy, quit playing. The search continues in the hopes of finding our next beagle. She is out there.

There was also an attempt made to get iphones. Maybe you might know about this one, being a celebrity who's on top of all things. Did you know that if you don't have credit, because you just don't have credit, they charge you like $500 to hold as a deposit? I bet when you got your iphone they just handed it to you. I hope NBC covers the cost of that for you, those jerks. If they did, that means they probably have credit. They probably drink iphones over there. I ended up signing up for a credit card this afternoon in the hopes of building some credit. That whole thing is very silly to me. I just want to be like the cool kids! Geez.

What are you up to today? It seems Minsky's has you very busy lately. My google alerts have something almost daily about it. I imagine you are taking it easy, chilling all day. I will tell you to not order the heart-shaped pizza from Papa John's. It's a scam to also get you to order their chocolate covered pizza crusts. And the pizza is thin crust, which just is not what Papa John's is about. We ended up just getting a regular pizza. That mess was delicious. Are you going to watch Saturday Night Live tonight? I bet it's awful, per usual. Since you've been gone, it is a straight-up stink show. No thank you. I think I have some old weird black and white movies about water fronts and noon-time shootouts in my future. Give me a shout!

Jon

2.12.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

Right now, at this very moment, I am sitting in my writing class. I'm in it to try and find my voice. My voice. I don't even know what that means. I feel like my voice is the one you might find in the bargain bin, that was reviewed as being too much like this author or too much of that one. I feel like most of what I do is rip off the style of other folks, David Sedaris-lite. Perhaps fat free, even. It's like the world might think it's worth something, but only at a discount price. They'll tell me it's because of These Economic Times.

So this class is all about prompts. It's a bit like the improv you do--they give you an object, a phrase and then you go with it. This week's prompt is a video camera. As I began to write, all I could think about was Paris Hilton and her video camera. Nightvision is so gross. When I walked in, I thought that maybe our class was being taped. In grad school, professors and grad students were encouraged to have their lectures taped so they could watch them and critique. I don't think my teacher has to answer to a tenure committee, so I am pretty sure class is not being taped. But it totally reminded me of the first time I lectured.

Geez. I was so nervous standing there in front of all those kids. I call them kids, but most were my age. Some might have even been a little older. They all made me nervous. I don't know how you did it for so long on Saturday Night Live. Maybe there's a focus that comes from all the rehearsals and knowing that you're funny. I practiced my lecture in my living room, in front of only me. I was over in about ten minutes. I had TV to watch. I think the last time I had given a presentation was as an undergraduate. Something about Charlize Theron, and that film she was in, "Monster". I'm so glad you turned down that role that Christina Ricci took. Charlize looked so gross. I think she could have been a serial killer just from touching you with that face! Or maybe her strength came from all that grease in her hair. I don't know what kind of dude would pick up ole Aileen Wournos, but I guess they weren't into showers. Of any kind.

That presentation was kind of bad. The professor hated me because I sent her an email demanding to know where all the black actresses were when our class was about women and film, not White Ladies in the Movies. She took out Legally Blonde and put in Jungle Fever. Cop. Out. I swear Angela Bassett would have gathered up all the prof's clothes, put them in her car and lit them all on fire when she heard the travesty that was this class. I did suggest "Waiting to Exhale". Maybe the professor wasn't a fan of Whitney Houston. Or maybe she thought it was a pot movie. Whatever, she hated me.

Come to think of it, the plot of "Waiting to Exhale" is similar to your new movie in a lot of ways. They're both about a group of sassy women, done wrong by men. Ok, that may be the only similarity. I do think Tyler Perry will have seen both by the time you get this, though. You know how he is about sassy ladies. Oh, Tyler Perry. Have you considered working with him? He may do you like he did Kathy Bates, which means it's all straight-to-DVD. Geez, I hope you're never so hard up as to do a Tyler Perry movie. Hello, I'm talking to you Janet Jackson. I guess you gotta do what you gotta do after that mess with 30 Rock. Whatever. Broadway is your's! Please write back.

Jon

2.10.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

I’ve been doing some reading about this Minsky’s. First, I love that your character's name is Beula. I had an aunt by that same name. Second, I am wondering why Dita Von Teese is not involved. I mean, hello, she is the only existing burlesque entertainer worth her weight in tassels. Her business also has to be drying up; she probably needs some money. Let’s face it, between burlesque shows and tanning salons, there are some things we can just do without during These Economic Times. Why is she even famous, beyond having been married to Marilyn Manson? She’s Casper incarnate and she lives to shimmy in champagne. For most people, that would qualify as insane. Now after having written all that out, Dita might not understand the satirical value of Minsky’s and it is probably best she not be a part of it. She’s so serious.

Over the past two weeks or so, I have become obsessed with reading my horoscope every day. Sometimes it’s spot on, other times not so much. Today it tells me I may find spiritual centeredness in the tiny details. Okay. What does that even mean? Do you read your horoscope? I feel like you might, but to make fun of it. They don't mean a whole lot most of the time. I guess if you do what they say it's a bit like letting your life be ruled by fortune cookies or LaToya Jackson. Remember her psychic hotline? I always wanted to call, but only to talk to her. She's so crazy.

I should get going. I have to recreate a spreadsheet that was hand-drawn by some cave dwellers. Somehow they couldn't manage fire, but they figured out how to divide up pre and post doctoral students and give them account numbers for all their research money. Just a few more days of this! I'll let you know how it goes. Gimme a shout some time.

Jon

2.6.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

I am currently hiding underneath my desk. The copyman was fired yesterday. And he’s got a pistol. He’s been following people around campus for a few days before getting fired, sitting in his van. I have always been fearful of people sitting in their cars. I mean, why not go in to wherever you are, why sit in the parking lot? It’s one thing if maybe you’re finishing up a phone call or a sandwich, I can see you wanting to sit in your car and do those things before heading into Best Buy. But to just sit there, like staring, being creepy—no, thank you. If you’re going to stab me, get out of your car and just do it! You sitting there freaks me out! Waiting, watching. This man has just been sitting in his car and, so it seems, copiers across the land are going unserviced.

The office I’m hiding in is full of ladies, and me. We had an impromptu staff meeting in the copy room. I felt like “Mad Men” and Joan Holloway was delivering some kind of salacious, or in this case dangerous, news. I also felt a bit like Klymaxx, with copy room substituted for the ladies. I covered my mouth when she said he had a gun. MF, I’m getting out of here next week, moving on to a new job. Please don’t let me die today. Not like this! I’d always been friendly to this dude. I didn’t call his bosses complaining about his lecherous tendencies. Or that he brought his lunch with him one day and sat down to eat it in our kitchen. I don’t think we even called to have our copier worked on. I mean, yeah, the office is a warm spot I guess. He’s a mess.

Everyone got worked up into a tizzy. I just don’t want to die. Someone suggested we get guns. I suggested we all get tazers. I feel like you might know where I could get them, you or my best sister friends. I don’t want anyone to die, I just want them fucked up a little. I’m in no tizzy, but I am under my desk. They’ve decided to have everyone enter through the one door right in front of my desk. I suppose this is because I am the lone dude, or because I work at the reception desk and it just kind of lacks walls and its own door. This means I am the first line of defense if the Copyman comes here. It also means I’ll be the first victim. If he doesn’t see me, I must not be around. Thus, I am under the desk.

On an unrelated note, have you heard about Robin Quivers and her miraculous weight loss? I had no idea she was so large. Large enough to lose 90 pounds. She’s like a secret Carnie Wilson or something. But the weird part is that younger dudes are asking her out. Isn’t she a lesbian? According to Wikipedia, she had been with Mr. X for a while. Mister. Hmm. Well, young dudes are hollering now. I’m not sure how to respond. Gross?

If you don’t hear from me ever again, I guess it’s because the Copy Man got me. Or maybe I’m out with Robin Quivers. Hope the show is going well out there. We need more details!

Jon

2.5.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

Did you SEE Top Chef last night? Just when I thought I couldn’t love Carla any more, she came at me with her 1000 horsepower love machine. Man alive, if there is justice in this universe, she will win Top Chef. In related news, I’m thinking of organizing some sort of “Stay Home from Work and Text All Day for Carla to be the Fan Favorite” event. Could you lend a little pro bono PR to this cause?

So, I know this is my first solo post, but I want to cut to the chase. I know you were bummed about that dumb Vanity Fair spread last year. But you know what? Your omission from their “women of comedy” coverage incensed me so much that I not only actively decided to never read Vanity Fair again, but also decided to scowl at people at newsstands, bookstores, airports, etc. when I see them reading or even thinking of reading Vanity Fair. No joke. I’ve only been confronted by security a handful of times, which is really not much of an inconvenience on my part. And don’t worry, my efforts coupled with the impending collapse of the magazine industry will give those dweebs at VF their just desserts.

But let’s clear the air of all this negativity. I was just pondering who I would include in my list of ultimate comediennes. Do you still like to be called “comediennes?” I never know what you people are calling yourselves these days. I guess “comedienne” is kind of limiting. “Funny Ladies.” That sounds like a euphemism for a gang of meth head hookers or something. Um… “First Women of Comedy?” No, I feel like Tyler Perry would be on that list. Maybe “Funny Gurrrls?” No, that’s a roller derby team sponsored by NOW, I think. Okay, women who make me chortle. That’s what I’m calling my list. Here it is, in no particular order:

1.) Margaret Cho
2.) Dolly Parton
3.) Carol Burnett
4.) Rachel Dratch
5.) Sarah Silverman
6.) Tina Fey
7.) Lily Tomlin
8.) Gilda Radner
9.) Kathy Griffin
10.) Amy Sedaris

Okay, that’s just the first ten to come to mind. I guaran-damn-tee you, there’s more funny on that list than Vanity Fair could handle.

Alright, now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, let’s get down to business. As I’m commuting each day, I’m going to devote a little bit of time thinking of ways to get you back in the saddle. Here are some ideas I’m coming up with as I write:

1.) Times are hard, right? That’s what they tell me on cable news, at least. When times are hard, people want to escape OR they want to see someone stickin’ it to the people who made times hard. Enter the feature length comedy: RePossessed. A woman (one Rachel Dratch) has her home and car repossessed by wicked mortgage lenders and is forced to bike to work from the shelter or something. Of course that ends in a deadly bike accident and she comes back as a ghost to haunt the mortgage lenders. There’s some sort of love thing involved, I’m sure. And maybe Amy Poehler could be a medium that you possess and she helps you tie up your loose ends or whatever. You know what, maybe this material is more appropriate as a light-hearted episode of The Ghost Whisperer. Think about it.
2.) Have you considered hosting some show on cable? Mario Lopez can’t do it all.
3.) A Nazi movie. They’re really in right now.
4.) What about a stunt? I mean, you can drop a few f-bombs on some production staff and people will make dance remixes on YouTube within the hour. Throw a fit… or your cellphone. It might also be a blast.

That’s all I’ve got right now. I feel like we’re really getting somewhere, though. Stay sassy and keep it real.

Ben

2.4.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

Girl, why didn't you say anything about this movie you've got coming out!? The combo of you and Miss Poehler is a bit deadly. Like that peanut butter! Speaking of which, hope you haven't been affected. I feel like you might really enjoy some peanut butter, as I obviously do. Your pics from Sundance look super spicy. I like it. The fact that all of this is happening also makes me very happy.

Have you been watching American Idol? I refuse to watch those dumb audition episodes. Sweet jesus. But I did see/read about that girl who auditioned in just a bikini. Maybe I'm drinking the Haterade, but she's not very cute. I like to think the bottom was squeezing her junk and ruining her voice. Maybe it was all that tucking. I look forward to discussing the less skin-inclined and more singing-inclined singers at a later date.

Man, this time last week I was laid up and out of commission. I ate some old bean dip. I knew it tasted funny, but I was hungry and kind of into it. Nothing told me not to eat it, so there it went. The consequences were dire. I won't let that ruin a Chipotle burrito, though. That guacamole is crucially important to my operations. I'm just glad to be alive. Promise me you won't fall victim to bad bean dip.

I don't know if you're married or not, but I have a get back into the limelight quick scheme. Have you considered dating Shia LeLaBeouf? I know, I know. This is insane. But then you could turn the experience into a one-woman show. "I Am A Transformer". Forget all of that. I don't know how you feel about end of times prophecies, but I think you need to star in something with Kirk Cameron. Say, one of those "Left Behind" films. You could be his wife after his other one is raptured. Imagine the wacky senarios. I don't know how light he'd like to make it, but something about this says Oscar to me. Ok, better yet. "Mad Men" Season Three. That is all there is to say. This is all just in case your other show doesn't take off. Which it totally will. I know it.

Jon

2.2.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

I watched some of the Super Bowl last night. I don't understand people who get so caught up in the having a party for some game in which they don't care about either team, but have a party to justify eating mini-weiners and spicy meatballs. Or in my case, mesquite barbeque chips and cheetos. Sometimes, I like to get all Britney on some food, I won't lie. You would have enjoyed the football field made of dips though.

I feel like you might also hate that Natasha Bedingfield song that is also the theme from "The Hills". It came on today when I was going to work. I hate it. Sometimes I think Natasha Bedingfield and KT Tunstall are the same person. But then I remember KT has that song from "The Devil Wears Prada" and Natasha as that lady from "The Hills". I love some "Suddenly I See". Jesus. Sometimes, when I have a bad day, I put that song on and just walk around smiling. That song has power. Why wasn't KT Tunstall invited to do the Superbowl halftime show? It's probably because we have no idea where she is now. Isn't she Scottish or something?

It's going to be a long day, I feel like. I decided this morning that I'm going out for lunch. Sometimes peanut butter just doesn't cut it. Or you have that poison butter and you've spent several days regretting all those spoonfuls of peanut butter and Hershey's syrup you ate last week. Not that that happened.

Jon