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Overview
• Bob Witfong recalls being hired as a correspondent by The Daily Show but never called in to work; then being fired by mistake; then going on air and called “creepy” by bloggers; and then actually being fired.
• Meredith Hoffa has her pubescent crush destroyed by a new haircut modeled on Mary Stuart Masterson’ s in Some Kind of Wonderful just when “the size of my face and body had caught up to the gigantic size of my teeth.”
• Joel Stein (celebrity interviewer for Time) receives an earful from Buddy Hackett who, before slamming down the phone, says: “You’re being kind of, what do you call it, I don’t know, those wise-guy papers? Tabloids.”
• Dave Hill offers his piece for a British “lad” mag in which he went undercover with a police vice squad, an article killed because he didn’t go “far enough” with a transvestite prostitute.
• Jackie Cohen fails her audition for the synagogue choir–at age five.
And many more too painful to mention.
Featuring essays, jokes, sketches, cartoons, and articles passed on by venues as varied as Saturday Night Live and Reader’s Digest, Rejected is a priceless compilation that reminds us it’s a-okay to be a big loser.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780345513243 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Random House Publishing Group |
| Publication date: | 01/27/2009 |
| Sold by: | Random House |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 272 |
| File size: | 4 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Introduction
[Complete with my editor's notes]
Jon Friedman
Hi, Doug.
I had this idea to open the introduction of my book by specifically saying hi to anyone named Doug. [I can't tell you how many introductions to books I have seen where the author begins by saying “I thought of starting the book this way…”] The idea being that if your name actually is Doug, it would kind of blow your mind and you'd keep reading and then tell your friends what happened and then they'd run to the bookstore to see if the book was also specifically saying hi to them, but then it wouldn't; it would still be saying hi to Doug and then they'd be like, “It's not saying hi to you, Doug. It's some other Doug. It still says Doug.” And then they'd put the book down. So I rejected the idea outright. Not to mention, so did my editors. This, of course, is why I then did open the book by saying hi to a Doug. [So I think you should cut this entire section.]
[This graph is boring and a little wooden] For nearly five years I've been hosting a live comedic variety show in New York City called “The Rejection Show,” which features the rejected material from professional and up-and-coming comedians, writers, artists, cartoonists, filmmakers, musicians, actors, and any and all kinds of creative types who also have entertaining, interesting stories to tell about being turned down. “The Rejection Show” has had the actual writers from Saturday Night Live share sketches that never made it to air—sketches that were never seen because they were shot down during the show's official writers meeting or dress rehearsal. Writers from The Onion have presented headlines that never made it into print, and when they were read aloud, audiences reacted in a way that reading accepted funny news headlines would never have inspired. [Clunkily worded] Ordinary people stop by the show to read scathing breakup letters they received or love letters that they wrote to the guy or girl for whom they had an unrequited crush. Sometimes it's clear that the material is simply not funny enough, but mostly we're left wondering, “How could that have been rejected?”
[START INTRODUCTION HERE! A good intro always starts with a punchy first sentence] I never imagined I would end up doing this sort of thing. It's not exactly a childhood goal to strive toward working with unwanted material. But as my career in the entertainment industry progressed, it became clear that working with rejection just might be “my calling.” During college I got an internship in the press and publicity department at NBC. My initial interview was on September 10, 2001, and I left knowing that I had gotten the position. And by “position” I mean showing up five days a week from 9 A.M.-6 P.M., spending all day, every day, clipping out articles from all the major publications that had any mention of any show or personality on NBC, and then making a packet out of those articles, photocopying those packets, and distributing them to the various offices at “30 Rock.”
For no pay. The morning after my interview, the world fell down.
My time at NBC was an invaluable experience. I got to walk through the famed SNL and “Conan O'Brien” offices, dropping off those press packets to every desk. You'd be surprised how much you can learn just by walking around. I learned about the difficult pathways it takes to gain acceptance and saw what a long, hardworking, yet rewarding road it actually is [this is cheesy sounding]. There were specific ways of doing things and many unwritten rules of what not to do, especially as an intern. Of course my [Jewish] mother asked me, “How come you didn't knock on Tina Fey's door and introduce yourself?” or “Why didn't you give your writing to Conan O'Brien?” but the thought of doing so didn't sit right with me. [Too serious Jon. Lighten up.]
On my last day at NBC I had my first real completely self-induced form of rejection. The previous night, I had printed out a bunch of my own SNL-style sketches and brought them in with me, though I wasn't quite sure what I would do with them. As I left the publicity offices to make my final handout run, I grabbed my sketch packet and went down to the 17th floor where the SNL offices are. (Studio 8H, where SNL is performed, is on the eighth floor.) I went into each small cubicle, putting the press clippings on each desk as I normally did. The closer I got to Tina Fey's office the more nervous I felt. I don't know why I thought she'd be in there; she never once was in her office when I came through. [And if she was there, would I hand her my writing and explain that I, Jon Freidman, am the next… or look down at the floor like usual—you need some more description] I didn't know what I was going to do—if I was going to give her my writing or not do anything at all. I turned and practically leaped into her office with a dopey, nervous smile, all ready to say “hi.”
No one was there.
I moved toward her desk, put her press packet down, and dropped my own scripts directly into her garbage can. I didn't do it because I thought my writing wasn't good enough, or that someone like Tina Fey wouldn't care. I did it because I wanted to know that writing and art are worth more than just hoping someone else can “take a look at it.” [I THINK YOU GET YOUR POINT ACROSS WITHOUT ALL OF THIS] So I turned around and walked out. [NB: This past year I submitted a writing packet and some of the exact scripts that I dropped in the garbage were included.]
After NBC, my career in rejection was molded and nurtured in different areas in my life. I went on to intern in the development department at Comedy Central where it was my job to go through the piles of unsolicited material and mail out the rejection letters. I did the same thing at the New Yorker, in their cartoon department. It was great to see what people were creating and sending in with the hopes that they'd be published or put on the air. A lot of it was terrible, some of it was great, but mostly all were entertaining because of the mindset in which I was viewing them. I knew that no matter what, pretty much the entire pile of work was going to be rejected. Knowing this, I was able to enjoy the material in a DIFFERENT way. It was simply more fun to view or read because a certain level of “judging” pressure was off. They'd already been judged for me, which, counterintuitively allowed me to truly judge them for myself to find what I personally liked or didn't like within each one. Not to mention, it also made me feel better about my own work.
[Need stronger transition]
Then came a new kind of rejection that I had not yet experienced and it hurt more than any of the others combined.
I got dumped by a girl. [A little too Dr. Phil]
On the verge of despair, I eventually used my own disappointments as motivation to find the positive within the failures. [A little clichéd] And from that, “The Rejection Show” was born. From the start, I envisioned the rejected works as metaphors for “rejected” people. If these already-turned-down pieces can have new life entertaining audiences, then why can't we as people find new life in ourselves after dealing with hardships? Working with rejection was a way for me to find new life in both my work and myself by relating to others going through the same thing. We've all been rejected, disappointed, and heartbroken, and we've all felt worthless, low, and down because of it. That's why I believe so many people have connected to the idea. Comedy often masks something more serious that comedians want to express. “The Rejection Show” gives the artist a chance to share his or her ideas through humor, and the audience a forum to relate to the artist because of the universal nature of rejection. [Again language is a little wooden, too formal, text book-y]
It's been hugely rewarding to see artists discuss and display their “failed” work. “The Rejection Show” has given many entertainers a chance to dig out their old favorites (or unfavorites) that were once considered “not good enough” and get a new satisfaction from their own reject pile. It's a form of redemption—a way to move forward and find closure in something that may have caused pain in the past, have fun while doing it, and hopefully encourage others to want to do the same. [Yes but you just said this]
As for myself, I'm still a bit fearful of failure, but when it happens I know there can always be a way to use it to at least move toward success, and I owe that to the courageous collaborative efforts of the artists and audiences who have embraced their own failures on-and off-stage at “The Rejection Show.” I've learned by watching and talking with these people to take risks instead of running away. It's all about laughing at our mistakes and missteps while still believing that what we have and who we are can always be useful, insightful, entertaining, funny, and valuable. [Cheesy! Predictable!]