Change Your Life! Video Clips

I did a movie a while ago, a Christopher Guest-style mockumentary called "Change Your Life!"; that skewered the multilevel marketing industry, motivational speakers, scams and stupid products. I finally got clips, so here for your enjoyment: These were half-scripted, half improvised, and total fun.

Les and Pam discuss the effect of multilevel marketing on their personal life.


Here's Pam waxing on about "The Secret" she's learning in a new self-improvement book.


Pam thinks "hell" is a "Gateway Swear Word."


Pam's email regarding a Nigerian Investment Opportunity!

I'm on Cisco Does "The Office"

Spinal Tap and The Office propelled the mockumentary comedy style to new popularity. So I got hired to do some short films for Cisco Systems. Here, my friend Tim Washer and I play husband and wife going in marriage counseling. There will be more episodes to come, but here are the first three.

Meet Don (improvised)


Meet Rhonda (improvised)


Counseling Session One (partially scripted)


You can subscribe to the Webisodes on You Tube here:

My Angus Burger and Kazoo Commercial

Well alrighty then. Here's me on the kazoo...

Uke and Kazoo

I did this McDonalds commercial while back. The guy playing my husband played the uke and I buzzed away on the kazoo. On the way to the set he started playing a Beatles song and we vamped. Well that earned props in my book. He's got more. Check out Skip Stellrecht on the uke:



I got an email today asking if Skip and I would be interested in coming to a ukelele festival. Sure I'd be up for it. But a kazoo festival, now that would be wild! In the meantime, enjoy more Fab Four on the Uke

Me and McDonalds Angus Burger

They're Grilling! McDonalds is testing a new Angus Burger, and I'm in one of their commercials.Playing a Kazoo!

They're testing in California, Boston, and New York. So if you're in them environs, go on, git yerself Angus Burger! And you may propel my commercial to national status, thereby contributing to the Susan and Larry retirement fund. Or at least, our health insurance. Or my career as a kazoo artist.

Cats On Prozac, Susan On My Name Is Earl

The LA Times feature an article about Animals on Prozac. I hardly know how to respond. Except to wonder, how did anxious pets cope before now? This may put the pet psychics out of business.


Monday I had a callback for a teensy role on "My Name Is Earl." I had a callback for Earl several months ago. I kicked ass. I didn't book it.

I've had a lot of callbacks but haven't booked the jobs. The other week I had a callback for Crestor. Drug commercials are lucrative. I even wrote a piece for NPR about it. But they always pick earnest women to say At mycholesterol.com, we learned that Bob's cholesterol, plus his age and family history, means he has to do more. Or, Do you have a Cholesterol Plus problem? Women who can say that a straight face.

I didn't book it. It was one of those epic auditions, where they kept there for two hours, mixing and matching. And then they let us stay or we got booted off the island. I only went in once, then a half hour later they booted me off. I think I lost it when they asked for profiles. Me and my Jay Leno chin.

I used to make a living as an actor. Which makes it sucky when you don't anymore. When you've lived your life on a notion that God is involved in guiding your life, and you've seen him open the doors. Then you see Him blessing everyone within striking distance of you, you wonder … what did I do to earn God's malignant neglect?

Saturday we'd been out to dinner in Los Feliz, a trendy area made famous by the movie "Swingers." It's a place where lots of Hollywood hopefuls hang out. Not the America's Next Top Model gorgeous, but the funky weird gorgeous. A gorgeous I could have been once. I remembered what it was like to be that age and full of hope, because I had all the world and time in front of me.

Well I don't have the world and time in front of me. It lies behind me in the years I was soft and hopeful. I spent a good twenty years trying to make a living in this business. And now it is over, and the line of time is drawn and fixed behind me.

Sucks.

Monday morning, Larry and I were having our devotional. For some reason when we started to pray for the day, I got emotional and prayed to God, "Come on man, I'm not asking to be rich and famous, I just want enough for health insurance and to afford an apartment with a door on the bedroom and an actual bathtub!"

----

It's not just yuppies and Westsiders who act like they are entitled. Christians are the worst, and I have been one of them. I started my acting career (and my career as an entitled Christian) sporting ideas like:

God has a wonderful plan for my life. He wants good things. Translate: I'm God's Kid: I don't have to work as hard. And my preachers gave me the Bible verses to back it up: God will open the doors that no man can close.

But then, life didn't work out that way. So pastors and teachers smiled, they downgraded my promises from holy writ to Hallmark maxims: When God closes a door, he opens a window.

To which I replied, Yeah, a window leading to unemployment and despair. And anyway, why can't God close the window, and open the door?

Monday afternoon, as I drove to the Valley, I thought more about that morning's prayer. Actually I thought about my transmission. Last time I drove to an Earl audition, my engine light went on. I thought about that. Then I thought about my whiny prayer. It was time to revise it.

I know this isn't your fault, God. Life is good and also hard. I know that I took much for granted. I was lazy and thought I was entitled to happiness and success, because I was yours. I am yours but I'm entitled to that alone. Please forgive me.

The women competing for my role looked like characters out of a Fellini film. Maybe my Jay Leno chin would help. We were all women over 35, dressed like drunken floozies. Vying for a chance to be funny. A chance to make rent money or health insurance.

While I was at the audition, a woman came up to me who recognized me from a temp job I had done four years ago. She still works at the law firm. Gives me the freedom to do this, she said. Go on auditions and have health benefits. I wondered again why I haven't sucked it up and gotten a full time law secretary job that allowed me to go on the occasional audition. I thought more about it, the image of life being a road behind me rather than in front of me. I got depressed.

I saw another woman there who'd been at the Crestor callback.
How did you do? I asked her.
They called me in once and released me. I don't care anymore, she said. She was dressed in a leather mini skirt and a crop top that showed off her ample cleavage. She didn't care anymore.

I realized my skirt was far too long to get this role.

I was the first one in for my category. The producers and writers in the room were friendly and fun. I was friendly and fun back at them.

I thought about joking that my skirt was too short. I didn't. I just got to the scene.

RANDY: Hi, I'm Randy. Are you drunk enough to come home with me?
The Woman downs the rest of her drink.
WOMAN: Yep.

I wanted to swallow something. I had set out a can of Shasta Diet grapefruit, but I forgot to put it in the car. All I had in the car was a plastic water bottle filled with Blue Listerine. So I brought that in. I downed a swig of that. It spilled onto my halter top. Made them laugh. I drove home with a slight medicinal buzz.

I went to the gym, and resumed reading Don Miller's "Blue Like Jazz" which I've read before. I was on the chapter where Don and a friend went on a road trip, to get his real self back. They stopped at the Grand Canyon and hiked down. When they got to the bottom Don just felt crappy. But that night he lay and looked up the billions of stars. He apologized to God for being fake and getting lost. It felt like I was apologizing to an old friend, someone with home there had been assort of bitterness, and the friend was saying it was okay, that he didn’t think anything of it.

I teared up a little on the treadmill. I wanted a do-over for the last twenty years. But maybe I could settle for a do-over of just today.

Thank you, God, for whatever comes. Good and bad. It's a fallen world, and there is sorrow and sadness. But there is also joy.

Sometimes when God closes a door, he opens an air duct.

Turns out I booked the job on "My Name Is Earl." I will be briefly visible in an upcoming episode of My Name Is Earl. Playing a drunken floozy. won't actually drink alcohol during the scene, or even Blue Listerine. Nor will I be going home with Randy. I will be going home to my husband and celebrating the fact we are a bit closer to getting our insurance back. And we will celebrate in whatever way old married floozies get to do.

Susan's on Burnside and Steve Brown Etc!

I'm now officially a contributing writer for the Burnside Writers Collective, run by Donald Miller and Jordan Green. You can read my On Fire for Jesus, or Ecoterrorism & Trader Joe's

And there will be more to come. I'll be doing an interview with actor Tony Hale for BWC.


Also, Jordan and I were just interviewed for the Steve Brown radio show. The show was streamed live, will air on the radio this weekend. Or you can listen to our program by clicking HERE!

Songs of Praise for Christmas

It's time for me too toot the self-promotion horn. I had the privilege to write another special for DirecTV. Songs of Praise for Christmas is co-hosted by Amy Grant and Darrel Waltrip, and features performances by choirs and musical artists.

It’s on DirecTV Channel 103, NONSTOP, 24/7, for an entire month. If you don’t get DirecTV, call a friend and tell them to Tivo it. If they don’t have Tivo, well, there’s still papyrus.

Gaudete, gaudete Christos est natus!
Ex Maria virginae, gaudete!

Greetings From Nashville

It's October, 2006:  I'm on the plane to Nashville: AKA Music City, Smashville, NashVegas. It’s mercifully empty on this flight, and I have an entire row to myself. Across the aisle and back one row is a couple that looks pretty country.  Fifties, Hillbilly hippies with turquoise jewelry. He’s got longish stringy hair and reading glasses. She’s got a Cocopeli bracelet and 30 extra pounds. They order Budweisers. It’s 10am.

Across the aisle and up one row is a woman I noticed in the airport. Short dark hair and a confused expression. Like she’s not sure what flight she’s on, or what era she belongs in. She’s wearing double knit slacks, a Mervyns turtleneck and expensive clogs. Maybe she’s an ex-nun. Once she got settled, her husband moved away from her to the seat at the window. She pulled out a thick legal pad with the reinforced cardboard back. She’s filled half of the pages. Maybe I pegged her wrong. Maybe she’s a successful novelist. Maybe why she can afford those expensive clogs.

I peeked over her shoulder. She’s making a meal list. Breakfast every day looks like cereal. Or cereal and bagels. Pancakes. Lunch and dinner are spotty. Vegetables and chicken. Pizza. Hot pockets. This can’t be a weight loss diet. Why would you track that food? Is she supporting the carb industry? She's definitely not supporting fashion or cosmetics.

She turns the page and writes. “Saturday.” Okay maybe she’s getting to her diary. No, it’s another list. A schedule by hour. Costco Advil. Water plants. Thelma argument. She's definitely the confused woman who doesn’t know what life she belongs in. Making lists helps her keep away the confusion.  Boy am I judgmental. Clearly, I'm nervous about the job.  When in doubt, turn one's critical eye on someone else, rather than oneself.

But I do know about making lists. When we are younger we have our futures ahead of us, to schedule, plan, or just fantasize over. But when you hit middle age and those fantasies didn’t materialize, (or they did, but they still didn’t fill the void) then you have little else to plan. Except scheduling meals and arguments with Thelma.

Maybe dieting will get easier when I stop hoping about the future ...

I haven’t given up hope just yet ... I’m on my way to Nashville to shoot the second of the Directv specials: Songs of Praise, a musical celebration of Christmas. I've written the scripts for both. It’s just a variety show: The two hosts tell the story of Christmas in segments and introduce the choirs which sing a song related to the story. That kind of thing. But Amy Grant is one of the hosts, so that’s going to be exciting!

The DirecTv people like me and are recommending me to rewrite another project they’re working on. Yea yea! Maybe this one has more story and plot. We shall see.

Larry and I just celebrated two months of marriage. It’s the first time I’ll have been away from him for more than 12 hours since we got hitched. I spent my entire life living alone, and it’s going to be weird to be separated. Married life is terrific. Well, it helps when you marry the right guy. I got a good one, that's for sure. But it’s also hard work! You don’t realize all your character defects, until someone ELSE has to live with your defects. And you have to live with theirs. Oh, and they come up every day. Especially in our place which is really small.

Here's the thing I realize: a guy is just a guy. The fundamental things apply. Larry's just a guy. A great guy. But if I had expected my life to radically transform because of him, I'd be really hurting right now. It has transformed, for the better. But Larry is not my salvation, nor am I his. Well, he is, in that we all have to grow spiritually or die. And he is helping me grow spiritually, let go of those character defects. And man it is really wonderful to have a ... partner. I don't know what word they said before "partner" got so politically correct. A bud, a lover and friend. Oh they used to say husband. It's GREAT to have a husband. I had some stressful days over the last weeks doing this writing gig and man, just to have him there. Marriage is good, I highly recommend it.

...

From the moment I landed in Nashville I heard that TWANG in the speech. Some really country ladies in front of me. Boots, cords, big hair and that twang. Of course I heard twang 90 miles out of LA in most directions. But this is really twangy.

Us DirecTv people are staying at the Loews hotel right across from Vanderbilt University. That campus is gorgeous. That's what you dream your college would look like.

While I was waiting to check in, I noticed a family with three teenager sons, and some fawning older man to the side. The eldest teenage son was wearing Nikes and a KILT. The older fawning man was wearing a "Tennessee Titans" sticker. I wonder if he's courting the Kilt Boy for their football team.

The church where we'll be filming is just a block away. Downtown Nashville is up the street but it's a bit of a hike. Not for the night time. Maybe I'll walk down there tomorrow.

The concierge warned me that this is homecoming weekend for Tennessee State University, and downtown Nashville bars will be crowded. Dang me. Good thing I don't drink and I dislike country music. Hey, maybe you're supposed to wear a kilt to homecoming. Yeah, that fawning man has to be a sports scout.

I really do not like country music. Well, I like Johnny Cash and Willie and Waylon. But I really can't abide the slick stuff, like Shania Twain. She lives in Switerland for the love of Pete; how is she country? Or who's this Pouty Boy at the left? The Brad Pitt of Country? I wonder if this guy even wears a hat when he's alone. Maybe a bowler. 

I better keep these opinions to myself while I'm here. I'm about to meet Ms. Amy Grant on Monday, and she may walk in wearing a Stetson.

Ah, I miss Larry...

PS: 2009 ... when I wrote this in 2006 I knew only three people in Nashvegas. I now know about three dozen people, they're all terrific folks. And none of them wear cowboy hats.  It's a beautiful place, too. Larry and I would consider moving to Nashville some day, if we could live in East Nashville or historic Franklin. Not Cool Springs, though.  Cool Springs is a great place for a mall or a swanky office building or a nationalized upscale chain restaurant. But Cool Springs reminds me too much of Orange County, California, where I was raised and escaped from as soon as I was able.  Not that there's anything wrong with beige...

Want to book an acting role? Get married during the shoot

There’s an actor adage: Want to book a role? Plan a vacation.
To which I’ll add: Want to book a BIG role? Plan a wedding.

My friend Brian Godawa is helping rewrite a script for an indie film comedy. He recommended me to the producers. I had a blast in the audition. I kicked butt. They emailed me that they’d be talking to me soon. I emailed them back: my friend Catheryn is coming in to read for you. She also kicks butt. Catheryn did indeed audition, and she also kicked butt.

That evening the director called:
Director: we'd LOVE to have you on the film. But there are two crucial days of filming that the entire cast has to be available: August 26th and 27th.
Susan: Uh, I’m getting married on August 26th.
Director: How important is the guy to you? Come on, there are plenty of guys out there.
Susan: You never tried internet dating.
Director: (laughing) We’ll see if we can film around you on Saturday. We're thinking of casting your friend Catheryn in a part. How do you like working with her?
Susan: You kidding? We've done sketch comedy together, we do a monthly reader's show together. She’s hysterical.
Director: Great!!
Susan: She's also my bridesmaid.
(pause)
Director: Could we hire stunt doubles?
Susan: For your movie or my wedding?

Catheryn assured them later: we can all work this out. It’s what we do.

Fantastic News! both Catheryn and I booked plum roles on this indie comedy. The script is really funny, the producers/directors are terrific. And we even know Brian, the writer.

Challenging News! I’m working Monday through Thursday before my wedding. I’ll be back to work Sunday morning. The Sunday morning after my wedding night, I’ll be out the door and on the set by 8 am.

Do the math.

Larry’s really got his heart set on having a barbecue later on after the wedding and reception. I want that communal moment where I can sit back with my friends and say, ‘wow, look what God has done.'

That's the Wedding Dilemma. You want to share this Wow moment with your friends. But if you’ve got lots of friends, that's a lot of Wows to rack up at a reception. Unless you have a Larry-style barbecue later! Brilliant! Whoever wants to schlep out to Woodland Hills deserves a grilled pork loin, a beer, and a Wow! moment with Larry.

BUT helloooooo, I’ve been waiting patiently, lo these months, to have my own wow with Larry. And if we're barbecuing late, and I gotta work on a movie early ... well, do the algebra.

I asked Brian to push for a LATE START on Sunday.
Maybe we could get you a conjugal trailer for the shoot? he suggested.

Dude, I've waited for the Wow moment. Not an Ewww moment. Pressboard and naugahyde on wheels is Ew.

Well, Jacob waited seven years for Rachel. Twice. Of course Larry and I are gonna enjoy our wedding night. But if you come to the barbecue, do me a favor: have your beer, your Wow, and get outta Dodge.

This ain't rocket science.

Audition, Ad Infinitum

I don't know if I'm still an actress. My theatrical agent told me he'd submitted me for a Molly Shannon movie months ago, but the casting people never responded. Maybe I'll have to take it into my own hands. I know Molly, she's seen my shows. She's a really cool person. I have friends who know her really well. I hesitate calling my friends and seeing if they can contact Molly for me -- I don't want to be one of those blood sucking friends. However, I DO want to work.

I had a few commercial auditions today, though. My first "On-Camera" auditions in WEEKS. Pine Sol and AT&T Yellow Pages. Products that will change your life! Well, they'd change MY life if I book one, the ad runs a while. It could mean the difference between health insurance and the Venice health clinic.

As for my auditions, I was brilliant. And a lot of good it'll do. What a crap shoot. The first audition runner said, Let's tape the rehearsal because you're always good.

A guy I knew from the The Groundlings, a comedy superstar and a guy who worked all the time, came over and said hello.
I asked him how it was going?
Hanging on by a thread, he said.
Even for comic superstars.

The audition office has dozens of auditions going every day. They must have been casting a beer commercial, because there was a parade of gorgeous, leggy, titty babes in various levels of undress, going in and out of the Ladies Room, which I was sitting across from. Two other 40-ish "at home casual" actors were on the bench with me. We watched silently as the cheesecake chicks giggled in and out, checking their pasties or thongs. Finally one Chick with a loosely-laced boustier giggled in to check her placement. I looked at my fellow 40ish actors and said, I think I should audition for that spot.

I went into my second audition. A suburban couple, "casual at home" dress, are camped out on their front porch waiting to catch the Yellow Pages being delivered. The actor paired up with me didn't really look like my "husband." He had snow white hair, looked about 60, and was dressed like he worked for Morgan Stanely (he probably walked out of a Morgan Stanely audition).

The time was coming when we'd slate: smile and give our name to the camera. Do I comment on the disparity between him and me? I know what I'd say, but would it insult the man? The words were on my tongue, the thought in my head. Do I say it? How many shots to you have to distinguish yourself?
I thought of my friend Catheryn, who usually goes for it.

So the slate came.
Me: Hi, I'm Susan Isaacs.
Morgan Stanley Man: Hi, I'm Cooper Harriman.
Me again: I'm his trophy wife.

It worked. I was brilliant. The rest of the audition went fine. But who knows if they'll even see it? Maybe they'll fast forward and never see my brilliant quip, because they'll only see Morgan Stanley and Mismatched Woman.

When we finished, the young guy running the audition said, I see you in a lot of things, you work a lot don't you? Which has its own kind of desperate hope in it.

I had a few Voice Over auditions at my agent's office the other day. There was an actor in the waiting area. I recognized him from somewhere. He played a doctor in one of the DVD’s I’d just watched. "Shop Girl" or "Broken Flowers."

He chatted me up. He went into the booth ahead of me.
When he came back out, I almost asked: Did you play a doctor in "Shop Girl?" But I chickened out. Instead, I got into the booth and said something to the engineer.

I saw him in a DVD this weekend!
Good Night and Good Luck? the engineer asked. He was brilliant in that!

Then I realized, the actor also had that meaty role in GN&GL of the Newscaster who committed suicide. I'm glad I didn't gush over his two-line bit part as a doctor in Shop Girl.

Even after GN&GL you gotta get back on the horse and audition.
Again. Again. Again.
No matter how brilliant you are.

on Failure

ON FAILURE

Success has escaped me for most of my adult life. Not that I have had no success at all. I've had some. I've even done one particular thing, really well, for a short time. Or I've done a lot of things, for a very long time, only so-so. I could claim my dilemma is that I'm so multi-talented it's been hard to choose between one thing and another. But really, it's just a form of sloth; defeat by abdication. It's easy to fantasize how incredible you'd be "if only" ... rather than going for it and finding out for sure.

If you lark about long enough, the verdict comes in without your vote. Such was the case in most areas of my life over the last year. Love, career, home, even faith. Everything I believed in, everything I relied on for security and identity went bankrupt. I felt angry, betrayed, abandoned, rejected. Especially by God. Then I felt embarrassed and ashamed for my contributions to the state of affairs. Which was probably 95%. It's only now starting to seem funny. But for the most part, sucked to be me.

One of the benefits of failure is, you get to see who you really are and what your heart looks like. I'd recommend this experience like I'd recommend a coffee colonic. It is a grotesque and painful experience. But in the end, the shizznit comes izznout. It's a horrible relief.

Then you get to ask yourself some things. Like, of the persons places and things you relied upon, how necessary were they? How did your expectations exceed the capability of the person place or thing? In other words, just how big a bitch were you? How did I get here? This is not my beautiful house. This is not my beautiful car. My God. What Have I Done?

Another side benefit. When everything gets taken away and you realize, "Wow. I'm still alive;" you experience relief and freedom. And then actually, perhaps those desires of yours (before ambition sullied them) might be okay. Like, the desire for love, safety, accomplishment or creativity. Doing them for the joy of doing them might actually be a good thing (unless your joy is in prostitution or theft).

CS Lewis, that slouch, wrote a letter to a friend, when his publishing credits had yet only amounted to a few essays and poems.

From the age of sixteen onwards I had one single ambition (to succeed as a writer), from which I never wavered, in the prosecution of which I spent every ounce I could, on which I really and deliberately staked my whole contentment: and I recognize myself as having unmistakably failed in it. The side of me which longs … to be approved as a writer, is not worth much. And unless God has abandoned us, he will find means to cauterize that side somehow or other. If we can take the pain well and truly now and by it *forever* get over the wish to be distinguished beyond our fellows, well: if not we shall get it again in some other form.

Being cured, with all the pain, has pleasure too: one creeps home, tired and bruised, into a state of mind that is really restful, when all one's ambitions have been given up. Then one can really for the first time say "Thy kingdom come": for in that kingdom a man must have reached the stage of not caring two straws about his status before he can enter it. Think how difficult that would be if one "succeeded" as a writer: how bitter this necessary purgation at the age of sixty, when literary success has made your whole life and you *then* had to go through the stage of seeing it all as dust and ashes.

Word.' I often prayed that God would purge me of my selfish desires, that I would want His will above all things ... so THEN he could bless me with fulfillment of those selfish desires. Like the way Solomon asked for wisdom, and received wisdom AND booty.

Maybe this necessary leveling of my ego will get me a step closer to humility. But frankly, the older I get the more I realize how "full of it" it I am. And how often I need those coffee colonics. Spiritual and otherwise.

FEMME

REPORT ON THE 15 MINUTES OF FEM SHOW

Hello Friends and Creditors.

As you may know, I competed in 15 MINUTES OF FEM last night at the Egyptian Arena Theater (http://www.15minutesoffem.com) 32 women: actors, stand-ups, storytellers compete for the top spot. One winner from each night goes onto the final show in front of lots of industry big wigs, and the ultimate winner gets private meetings with all sorts of casting and agents. Which will probably amount to a "Whoa, now that I see you in tungsten lighting, you are WAY over 30. Sorry." NO seriously it would be a great opportunity.

Well my show was last night and boy was it nerve wracking. First of all, the elastic gave way on my bikini, and my sash "Miss Palms" started to slip off my shoulders. My shoulders are very narrow, despite doing a month of that "Radical Rotator Cuffs" video. I'm always going to be petite up top.

Well onto the big question, if we were Miss Femme, what would we want most in the world? The first girl said, Free Net Flix. Ooo! That was so pandering. And clever man, I would have said Starbucks or Peets, but NetFlix! She must have a publicist. The next chick said, "world peace." they went straight onto me and I said, "world peace? Shaa! Like that's ever gonna happen." It got really really really quiet. I think people were thinking deeply about that. So I'm glad I made an impact.

But when we each got to our 15 minute program, the woman who went on before me, STOLE MY WHOLE ROUTINE. I swear, right down to the cartwheel. I knew it was weird when she asked to borrow my pants before she went on.

Well okay then, I said to myself. I did not come this far to be ripped off. So I went out there and performed my entire piece in Latin and Aramaic. WITH NO SUBTITLES. There wasn't a dry eye in the house. Once someone booed when I said, "did you ever notice ...?" I think they thought I said, "Jew ever notice." I'm going to cut that part out next time.

When I got home they called me. Indeed, I WON MY NIGHT! WOO HOO!

IN ALL SERIOUSNESS AND WITH ALL RESPECT AND SHOCK AND AWE

I am privileged to be a finalist, and to go on to the finalist show on March 1, along with the seven other winners from their night. Which will be on March 1. That is march 1. You are getting very sleepy. You are very relaxed. When you wake up, you will write in your Palm Pilot that you have plans to go to my show on March 1 and vote for me.

I will be performing 8 to 10 minutes of my show, 'A LUTHERAN OVULATES.'
A slightly refined and edited version of what I did last night. But I would sure love your support up to the end. I mean, just because you vote for Nader in the primaries, doesn''t guarantee he'll lose in November)

Mark your calendars and call for reservations!

15 MINUTES OF FEMME FINALIST SHOW!

Monday, March 1, 8pm
Egyptian Arena Theater
1625 N. Las Palmas, Hollywood
$10

Go to www.15minutesoffem.com or call 323-692-9601

Thank you so much! Susan

PS to all the New Yorkers: I am only including you because I know how cold and crappy it is out there right now, and just all this good news would cheer you up, or make you envious and force you to move out here! (By March 1 so you can vote)

Professional Rejection

Professional Rejection. The Actor's Daily Pill.

January 22, 2004

To: (agent Name and address omitted)
(but they're in Sherman Oaks
On Van Nuys Blvd.)


Dear ( ):

I got your Xeroxed "Dear John" letter that the agency is dropping me. Hey, no hard feelings. The day you sent me, a 5'5" 118-pound woman, to audition as a construction worker on a failing cable drama, I knew you didn't get me. But as a parting gift, I would like to offer you a few suggestions to help your business look more professional.

1. Use real stationery: real, 25 lb. bond paper with matching envelopes. Staples copy paper and Rite Aid envelopes don't work as formal correspondence. If you can't afford embossed stationery like other agencies; at least --

2. Use a letterhead. A letterhead is an identifying logo and your business address at the top of the page. It just looks tacky to have a Xerox with no sender identified. Especially if the Xerox went in crooked. And no, that rubber stamp doesn't cut it.

3. "How do I get a letterhead?" Easy. Scan your logo as a jpeg. Then you can insert into any document you want: stationery, letters, labels, you name it. If you don't know what a jpeg is, refer to your recent downloads from lesbianspankinferno.com.

4. For the love of God, Buy a copy of Microsoft Word. One disc will install on all the office computers. Your Microsoft Works barely has spell check. You cannot compete in the 21st Century if you are still using WORKS in DOS.

5. Spelling. Your rejection letter misspelled the word "for." Not even the common there/their/they're conundrum, but a simple three-letter word. "We will be closed foe the holidays." "Foe?" Who's your typist, P. Diddy?

Remember, it's not only who you are on the phone, but also what leaves your office, that is a reflection on you. The fact that I am leaving your office is also a reflection on you, but that's another story.

Speaking of phones: Hire a receptionist. The automated system that plays the same tinny music loop I hear when I call Fed Ex just screams C-LIST! And the prompt, "Please speak your name so I can announce who's calling," only reinforces this industry's wild insecurity, that the Called is deciding whether the Caller is worthy enough to be answered. God forbid Mr. Spielberg ever rang your office.

While you were not sending me out this past year, I was writing and performing at various venues in LA and New York. You know the postcards I sent? Or did the automated postal chute redirect them to "actor crap?" I performed alongside several TV writer-producers, (the ones I called and left a message for you to send them my stuff but you never did). Long and the short, I've gotten some writing gigs and I'm performing my solo show at a big theater in Hollywood. So I'll be fine.

Thanks for everything, ( ). Especially for teaching me what every actor needs to know: you cannot wait for someone else to get you work. You have to get it yourself. More importantly, you can't expect anyone to get you. You have to get yourself. Otherwise you'll be sent out to play construction workers.

Respectfully, Well, sort of,

Susan Isaacs