Working Out Means Never Having To Say No Dessert For Me

Before I bought a scale I used to walk to the gym, weigh myself and then hike, and I use the word hike loosely here, the three blocks home. In my defense, the walk back was uphill. So a few years ago I decided to get serious and hire a trainer, or rather hire the one that Bally’s Gym assigned to me. He'd been Mr. Bulgaria twice, Mr. Northern California in the early 90’s and had written three fitness books, which was three more than I'd written. I felt sorry for him; his business card was an unevenly scissored piece of Xerox paper. He was earnest and committed and I knew he had a family waiting in a cramped one-bedroom apartment somewhere in Koreatown expecting him to put borscht on the table. He had that sad, vacant look that people who do not ever expect to catch up with life have.

I hate working out but I hate eating even more. I don’t like food. Hand me a pill called LUNCH and leave me alone. I refuse to cook. If you don’t want to impress me, invite me out for dinner and then ask me where we should go, what we should eat and what we should order. Then as we’re eating, ask me how my Sea Bass is, or if I want to try your Carpaccio or split a dessert. Just so we’re clear, I don’t like to discuss food, shop for food or try out new food at the trendy new restaurant in Who Cares, New Jersey. I can hardly wait until I’m rich enough to have Ina Garten move in. It’s the only reason I’m still breathing in and out.

I only kept going to the gym because there were cute guys there. But sometime in the last two years my gym became a meeting place for old Chinese women. Mr. Bulgaria deftly escorted me through them as if he was afraid I'd stop and spontaneously break into a mah-jongg game.

The gym rat in our family is my sister, who once graced the cover of Muscle & Fitness Magazine. She goes around spewing communist propaganda like, “I’m really craving an apple.” Please, Johnny Appleseed didn’t crave an apple. If you’re at her house and want something fattening to eat, you have to lick the grease off her stove. She’s the kind of person who you'll ask, “How do I look in this bathing suit?” and she’ll say, “You look fabulous.” Then ten days later she sees you in shorts and says, “Gee, you really look great; not like you did in that bathing suit.” She got so addicted to exercise that she had to join a 12-step program. I don’t think it worked because now she’s up to 27 steps. As for the rest of our family, we would rather die with a stent in our hearts than a deltoid on our wherever-the-fuck the deltoid goes.

I went to World Gym in Venice with her one day many years ago. Arnold Schwarzenegger owned it then and Stallone hung out there a lot. I was having a rough time in the business and my sister, who was friendly with both Arnold and Sly, had told them about my struggle. Sly was there that day and when she introduced me to him, he had that crooked half-smile going on and came towards me with his arms outstretched. “Aaaayyy, somebody needs a hug.” His bodyguards surrounded us and Sly hugged me like I owed him money. I knew he had had a rough ride in Hollywood before Rocky hit and I knew he understood where I was in my slide into artistic hell.

“Aaaayyy, don’t give up, it can happen to you,” Sly said. I’ve never given up because of that.

Sly and his body guards left and my sister and I began to work out in earnest. She did anyway, I was staring into space and wondering if Sly noticed that I hadn’t plucked my eyebrows. I watched as she admired her calves. Inspected them as if they had USDA stamped on them and were going to market in a refrigerated truck. A line formed. Now other people were inspecting her calves. Suddenly one of these voyeurs took time out from his busy schedule of ogling her and eyed me suspiciously.
“What’s that on the back of your arm?” he asked.
“A triceps?”
“Well,” he continued, “have a doctor look at it; it might be cancer.”


This was a repost from 2006. It was my 11th post! But it has a Sly Stallone anecdote that endeared me to the man for life. I'm so sad for him and Sasha and everyone who knew and loved Sage.

I Met Oprah And Scared Robert Redford

Back in the 90's I was in a movie called Indecent Proposal. The director hired five comedians to keep the principals laughing between scenes because the shoot days were long. I got assigned to English comic slash actor Billy Connolly. The comedians had no lines, got day player rates and all the food they could steal for later. Unlike the others, I didn't steal any food. I borrowed it. As you can see I'm very honest if Craft Services is reading this.

Robert Redford and Demi Moore were in the film and Oprah had come to Los Angeles to interview Demi. Oprah's team asked Redford if they could question him about Demi but he declined. The only reason I know that is because Oprah told me the story while she rolled her eyes and said, "I guess since the interview isn't about him he's not interested."

I had talked to Redford the second day I was on set. He was about 20 feet ahead of me and I yelled, "Mr. Redford!" He turned around and I made a dumb remark. He laughed and stopped walking long enough to make a dumb remark back. And if I didn't have Alzheimer's I'd remember what I said and what he said. I'm sure it was brilliant, though. Not him, me.

I saw him the next day and said "Hey!" when he walked by. He smiled and said "Hey" back and I wish I could remember what we both really said. Other comics with me that day and the day before thought I was mental for talking to him as if I knew him. Well, he was in my movie, wasn't he? That means I knew him. The third time he spotted me he quickened his step. Away from me. Whatever.

The arrival of Oprah was a big deal. She wasn't nearly as famous as she is now but her arrival still got everyone buzzing.

I, of course, positioned myself to run into her. She stopped and said hi to three of us blocking her path, told us about Redford and I launched into this story:

"I'm a comic. I travel a lot and get stuck in condos with male comics. I always watch your show every day I'm on the road and this story happens over and over: The first day the male comics always find me sprawled on the couch with the remote control in a death grip and the TV turned to Oprah.
"Is that all that's on?"
"YES IT IS."
Then they watch a few minutes and wander away.

The second day, same scenario. Only now they stay and watch for about 10 minutes before they wander away.

The third day the men yell out to me, "Hey Suzy, you're missing Oprah." By the time I get to the couch they're already watching. And they don't wander away."

Oprah laughed.

Why do I remember this story and not the conversations with Robert Redford? My Alzheimer's kicked in later in my career, apparently.

That afternoon we were in a scene and Oprah was standing off to the side, watching Demi and Redford. I was standing by Billy Connolly, telling dirty jokes and trying to get him to laugh and disrupt the filming. As you can seem I'm very easy to work with if any directors are reading this. I glanced over at Oprah and she waved to me. Only I thought she was waving to someone else so I looked behind me. No one.
Oprah waved at me again. STOP FUCKING WITH ME, WINFREY. I looked behind me. No one.

Finally Oprah pointed to her chest, her very ample chest, and then pointed at me, stabbing her chest twice and then towards my direction twice. She WAS waving at me.

I still looked behind me before I waved back.

It's Everybody Can Bite Me Friday!

I ran into actress Christina Ricci at Gelson's this week. As I mentioned on Twitter the day I saw her, she's about 3 feet 12" tall and incredibly long-waisted. She avoids eye contact with everyone. Doesn't want to be talked to. Even Patrick Dempsey stopped to talk to me. He knows a non-violent stalker when he sees one. Maybe.

Ricci lives above me in the Hollywood Hills, in a house (see below) designed by Lloyd Wright, Frank Lloyd Wright's son. Way to pass on the wrong part of your name Papa Wright.

Whoopi Goldberg is an ass and is one of many reasons I no longer watch The View. I'm not going to sit here and defend the Salahi's behavior getting into the White House but after watching the clip of Whoopi appearing stage right to tap Michaele on the arm and TELL HER to keep talking about the incident, as opposed to her new reality show, was really too much. Whoopi is not the boss of the show unless I haven't watched in so long that she is. Once during a Christmas show years ago they paraded out some "Christmas T Shirt Winners" and Whoopi proceeded to screw up her face in disgust at each one. As if to say, "I'm not a part of this bullshit. I'm just here to be taken seriously."

Take a hike Whoopi, because all that weight you lost CAME BACK. So seriously, take a hike. If I wanted to witness condescension and criticism on a regular basis I'd go live with my mother.

See that Humor Medal badge at the top of my sidebar? I received an email from a malcontent who did NOT receive a humor medal. There were 50 winners in each category and it's just a promotional tool for the company that hands them out. It's not a serious award. Although Mr. Disgruntled has a humor blog, he did not win so he served up sour grapes to all who did. He explained that keeping the medal on my sidebar would damage my reputation in Google.

Well, I should hope so.

I still have my partial bridge in. I cannot get myself to the dentist across town because I can't.

Photos Of Me And Some Funny Men

I'm posting pictures you may have seen here before but SUE ME ALREADY. I love that my name is part of a larger plan to suck money out of the bank accounts of strangers. After all, many of us don't get a chance to sue our parents and don't think it hasn't occurred to me.

"Suzy, it's time for school."
"I'm going to sue you for making me learn to read and write. Take that, hateful people, take THAT."

I once sued a bouncer at a nightclub in New York for shoving me so hard I fell on my ass and ruined my pantyhose. But the case was pretty stupid because how can pantyhose be further ruined? The nylony part is so viscous you could hoist it on a raft and sail that sucker to Hawaii. And that glaring white crotch area? Do the words 'Let's Try Lavender' NEVER come up in a company memo?
This is me standing between two men who would go on to become multimillionaires while leaving me in my one bedroom apartment putting my pantyhose back into their L'Eggs containers.

I can still see Phil pretend-walking down stairs in the Newsradio episode where he builds his own office. I have to find the photo I took of him holding a garden hose up to his crotch and pretending he was peeing.

Carl Ballantine died last November. He was one of the great character actors of the 1960's. He lived in my neighborhood and I ran into him a lot. He was always funny. Just funny on the street funny. In this photo from 2005 he is probably asking me what happened to my hair.

This picture was taken at Phil and Brynn's house. Andy thought he was posing for the press. He had forgotten he was at a party.

And finally, me and Flavor Flav. I made him pose for a picture because HE WEARS A CLOCK ALL THE TIME. Even while he's shopping.

I asked his son to take the picture with my cell phone camera. That fucking clock was bigger than my head and I have a jumbotron for a head.

End of chat.

Larry David Jerry Seinfeld Carl Ballantine Flavor Flav Phil Hartman Andy Dick

Just To Prove I Have A Big Mouth

One of the nicest people I have ever known in my entire life. Excluding me, of course.

Lassie, The Perfect Dog Stamp

June Lockhart was present for the unveiling of the Lassie stamp. June asked why she wasn't asked to be on the stamp and was told that she hadn't been dead for 10 years.

I'm not going to touch that sentence.

June Lockhart is a client of my sister's. They have become good friends over the years and we now consider her family. Whenever June is walking on her Street in Santa Monica, pedestrians and people in cars always give her a shout out, even when she's disguised in a scarf and sunglasses. I have the same problem only usually I'm jaywalking at the time.

June and her family are part of Hollywood's lore. They have three stars on the Walk of Fame. She has starred in two of America's most iconic TV shows.

One day Lindy said June and her friend Paul were going to see The Phantom of the Opera and we were invited. When June picked us up I tried not to be as inappropriate as I usually am around famous people. (Click on the label below to read the rest of the gaffes I've made)

I was bound to screw this up. At one point June leaned over the front seat and said something to me. I have no idea what it was but I do remember what I replied: "Semper Fi." Let me save you the trouble. What the fuck?

We drove for a while as June and Paul chatted up front. I leaned into my sister in the back and mumbled, "Can you believe we're in the car with Lassie's mom?"

"You do know Lassie had a canine mom, right?"
"Of course I know that; stop trying to ruin it for me. Should I ask her where Lassie is now?"
"I'm guessing she's going to say DEAD."
"STOP TRYING TO RUIN IT FOR ME."

I continued to stare at the back of June's head, lost in my reverie of LASSIE'S MOM and thinking up things I could do to my sister, like sleep with her boyfriend.

Lassie's mom was the sweetest, kindest mom. I don't think she ever punished Timmy, never said a bad word about anyone and never raised her voice in anger.

My mother: Go do your homework.

Lassie's Mom: Timmy lay down and take a nap while I do your homework.

My mother: Do your chores.

Lassie's Mom: You spent all day in school; I'll do your chores.

Me to my mother: Why can't we have a dog? A Lassie dog.

My mother: Because your father and I hate you.

Lassie's mom: Timmy, come here, we got a dog that can find you in a well if you fall in.

My mother: If we get you Lassie you'll just fall in a well and drown before she can save you.

Suddenly June slammed on her brakes. I was brought out of my reverie because we'd hit a construction area and couldn't move. June turned right and then left but we were not making any progress. We went up and down the same streets many times, but we couldn't get to the theater. Then June turned one corner and came smack up against an even bigger construction blockage.

"FUCK!" she yelled.

Now that's a perfect mother.

End of dog chat.

Bea Arthur. Was Anyone Funnier?

With the passing of Estelle Getty last year, it reminded me of the first time I met Bea Arthur. It was at her home on the west side of L.A. where residents have their horses in their front yards and their stables in back. It doesn't even look like L.A. It looks like Montana or some other rugged part of the West where I couldn't get a pedicure but could get a Cactus Sandwich.

Bea was a little under the weather and a friend of hers was bringing her soup and asked if I wanted to come along. There were only three women in comedy who I admired: Lucille Ball, Eve Arden and Bea Arthur. Did I want to come along? No, send me to Montana to die alone among the sagebrush and rattlesnakes.

We arrived about 4 pm and she asked us if we wanted a drink. I was so starstruck, and kinda scared of her, she's a tall, intimidating woman who's quite brilliant, that I couldn't tell you one thing about her house except that we ended up in the kitchen. Thank God I was drinking in those days so she poured us each a stiff vodka and gave my friend a glass of wine. Bea had 2 Dobermans. A Dobie with cut ears is the one of the most beautiful and scariest looking dogs in the world. Bea was an animal lover so she didn't have their ears cut, which made them look like big old friendly puppies. I forgot how snappy those dogs could be and played a little too roughly with one of them and he bared his teeth and took a swipe at my arm. I would never have played rough with a Dobie with cut ears. Bea didn't seem to notice, thank God. The moral of that story is I'm quite the idiot when I apply myself.

As we drank I peppered Bea with questions about her career. We talked about why her shows weren't, at that time, in rotation on TV Land but were on in Canada. I had just returned from a tour there and had seen reruns of Maude and that's what made me bring up the topic. Bea played Archie Bunker's liberal feminist neighbor for a few episodes on All In The Family and a studio executive noticed her and said "Who's the new girl? Let's give her own show." And they did. She was 50 at the time.

From there we moved on to The Golden Girls. I mentioned that the brilliance of that show, to me, was that each of them had a very distinct comedy persona. It's what made Frasier, Roseanne, Will & Grace, Friends, Cheers, Seinfeld and others so iconic. And it's what made Step by Step painful enough to be the anesthetic for a root canal. From there we dissected all the Golden Girls. When we came to Betty White, Bea said, "I couldn't stand her." At first I thought she was kidding and didn't quite know what to say so I just asked her why. "Because," she said in that throaty drawl of hers, "she was a cunt." I remembered hearing a story years and years ago about how 'someone' used to take dumps in Betty's trailer's bathroom and never flush. It was often rumored to be Bea. Apocryphal or not, after that day at her house I thought it might be true.

Bea was married for 28 years to Actor/Director Gene Saks. According to my friend, she never recovered from that divorce (he cheated on her with a younger woman welcome to show business 101) and never remarried.

Bea drank straight vodka from about 4 to 9 pm and then went to bed. Then she would wake up around midnight and watch TV. At parties at her house, dinners were early because she tossed guests out at 9 pm. When she performed? Didn't drink at all.

We went to her one-person show here in LA. She was in her early 80's by then and preparing to take the show to Broadway while I prepared for hip surgery. How depressing is that?

We went backstage to congratulate her. She was humble and charming and always, always funny. The lighting and sound technician from The Duplex in New York, one of the clubs I was thrown out of back in the day, came up to me and I was happy to see him. He was Bea's stage manager. He was there in NY the night I was banned. I was thrown out of 3 clubs before I moved to Los Angeles, one of them twice. I defy anyone to say they can beat that record.

R.I.P. Bea. You were so fucking funny.

Step Away From The Celebrities #4

I'm sure you're all familiar with Charlie Sheen and his show 2 and a Half Men? The housekeeper on that show is played by Conchata Ferrell, who lives in my neighborhood.

We live a few blocks from the Cinerama Dome, which costs a few bucks more but no one yells at the screen and there are never any babies crying and you can reserve your seat in advance while sitting naked at your computer with chocolate melanoma on your thigh.

It was built in 1963 to present special "Cinerama" movies. Cinerama was a wide-screen format of the early 60's, which used three separate 35 mm projectors and a huge curved screen. It was very successful and hundreds of domed theatres were planned, but the wide-screen process proved too expensive, and the Cinerama movie fad soon faded from popularity and became the VHS of movies. Ours is one of the last ones left in captivity.

This incident happened a month or so before my surgery last year and I was in BAD shape. I was buying painkillers off the drug dealer in the apartment next to me and I was the one complaining about him.

I took my reserved seat and noticed that Conchata and her 98 pound husband were sitting in back of me on the aisle. I'd chosen a middle seat and had a cane. The movie ended and I wobbled to the stairs and was negotiating them slowly when I hear her behind me say in a booming voice, EXCUUUUUSE ME. I edged closer to the side, which p.s., I was already so on the side I could have passed for flocked wallpaper. She just needed more room so people could recognize her. And how did she miss a FUCKING CANE and someone LIMPING?

Once in the lobby I put on a heavIER limp and hobbled right beside her and she didn't seem to think I was slowing down her trip to lap band surgery as she strolled leisurely along.

I'm telling you, fat people hate me.

End of chat.

First. Some Of The Celebrities

It was a long day into night but I thought I'd throw up some photos I took to gear up for the rest.

Below is Jorja Fox from CSI.

James Cromwell, who has been Hollywood's best character actor for decades.

Emily Deschanel from Bones.

And for the love of God it was a vegan meal!!!

End of chat.

Step Away From The Celebrities #3

I saw a movie star on Monday. He has a house in our neighborhood and was driving his black Benz, wearing a cap and sunglasses. He cut though traffic out of an Arco gas station and I thought, what an asshole, he's going to kill someone.

Oh wait, it's Brad Pitt. He can kill anyone he wants.

I always go out of my way to talk to actors who have impressed me over the years. Poor Mark Ruffalo was trapped with me at Mayfair Market until the paramedics came and put him on a stretcher and gave him pain pills.

Yesterday I saw another celebrity. We were in the same manicurist's shop and the minute she walked in I heard all the manipedipeople yell Hi Ann Marie!

After two seconds I said, "Ann Marie, aren't you the girl from...." and she said "Yes." I proceeded to tell her what a great actor she is and what was she doing now and where did she live and did she know our mani/pedi place was closing and was she going to call the paramedics? I asked if I could take a picture of her with my camera phone and she told me to google her and take a picture off her website. Clearly she's friends with Mark Ruffalo. So I googled Ann Marie Bergl. Nothing.

I finally googled this show and realized her name was EMILY. But pronounced by Vietnamese it came out Ann Marie. Or I've only got one ear left. She was so gracious she didn't even tell me I was mispronouncing her first name whereas I once yelled at someone who called me SUE and not SUZY. She's coming back on the air in the fall in a new John Well's show and is just finishing up a Broadway run. She's busy.

I'm not. Is that a surprise?

End of chat.

Never Write A Letter To The Bee Gees

One of the part time jobs I had in LA was working for a company called Left Bank. They managed bands like Duran Duran, The Cranberries, and the Bee Gees. One of the Big Kahunas in the company used to be a standup comic back in NY. He said he was glad he left the profession because now he could pay his bills. And eat. On a regular basis.

Quitter. I floated round the office but mainly was on the Reception Desk because of my personality. I’ll talk to a dead person, and have, so I was the perfect choice to terrify encourage the wannabes who came in and were nervous. My job was to get them to relax so they wouldn’t be so annoying when they met with the managers. Most of them told me to shut the fuck up ignored me.

I got tons of free CDs and learned some disappointing things. When they got musician submissions in the mail, and they got a lot, they were automatically tossed into a large closet, never to be seen again or opened. If you didn’t have an agent, manager or lawyer submitting you, that was the end of that. Very few people called to check on their submissions. I remember one in the few months I worked there. Later on, when I started writing screenplays, I never blindly sent out scripts but took a more professional route and tossed them directly into the trash.

I had no idea how hard they worked to get airplay. The woman in charge of that department fielded over a hundred calls a day. If you worked for her, you had to be calm and serene because the pace was frantic. I lasted 4 days with her before my head fell off. But at least I understood why you heard the same shitty songs over and over and over while you were driving 4 blocks to the dry cleaners.

To this day I never listen to music on the radio. Flashbacks. I always wonder if YouTube made their job easier.

Never write a fan letter to a management company. I can tell you exactly where they end up. If you do by chance get an autographed picture, it was signed by the secretary to the janitor.

Once I worked for the big manager, Tommy. Everyone loved him. He was smart and funny and really sweet. One day I got a call.

“Left Bank.”
“Yeah, let me talk to Tommy.”
“Who shall I say is calling?”
“Me.”
“Me who?” I laughed a little but wanted to say, ARE YOU KIDDING ALREADY?
"Meeeeeeeeeeeee.”

Yeah that helps, draw it out.

“Meeeeeeeeeee who?” Was this guy high? Music + spaz phone call = drugs.
“Meeeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

Seriously, what is wrong with people?

“Meeeeeeeeeeeeeee WHO?”
“MeeeeeeTTTTTTTTTT.”

Meetuh? Who the hell is meetuh?

And then I remembered, that’s what they called Meatloaf. One of their clients.

Now that I've put up the promotional CD cover, I realize it says "Must be returned on demand of copyright owner." Yeah, well they don't know where I live and if they find me, I hope they bring a big box.

End of chat.

The Grammy's

Alicia Keyes and Frank Sinatra. Wow.

Prince. He's 3 feet 12, weighs 18 ounces and I'd step over my dead grandmother to get to him.

Rihanna. Could someone please club me over the head when that song Umbrella comes on? Yeah yeah, it's catchy. I get it. I heard Britney Spears was offered it and turned it down so I think that proves she's not as insane as people think.

The Beatles and Cirque de Soleil? Not really. They're the Beatles. Cirque de Soleil is not.

Kanye, I like you dude. But special effects and a paean to your Mom don't make up for the fact that you can't sing without making my ears bleed. Just stick to rapping. And engraving MAMA into your hair? Who does that? When Frank Sinatra's Mom died, I'm pretty sure he didn't carve her name into his scalp. Although I wasn't there, so maybe.

Why don't Ringo Starr's ears have their own zip code? Unless ears determine penis size, I really don't need to see something that big attached to anybody's head.

CHER!
BEYONCE!
TINA and BEYONCE!

I was thrilled that Burt Bacharach won a Lifetime achievement award. He used to date my sister and is one of the nicest guys I've ever met. (I have better stories about him but they're disguised in my first book and way too wild to reveal on a blog) He once called me from Las Vegas where he and Paul Anka were holed up writing songs. He asked me to listen to something and come up with a name for it. It was 3 a.m. New York time and I was on the phone with these two legends and half asleep and couldn't think. I came up with a name but I have no idea what it was. If it was Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head, somebody owes me some money. I still run into him every few years or so and he always remembers my name and to ask about my career. People who love me don't even do that.

Best line of the night. Vince Gill after his win, "I just got an award given to me by a Beatle. Can you say that, Kanye?"

Worst moment of the night. The brilliance of the Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue followed by the clumsy intro by Who? and Who Else? I have no idea who the retards were that followed them. Herbie Hancock and Lang Lang were in the middle of a standing O. And just cut off at the knees. Especially since after Amy Winehouse sang Rehab they let her get plenty of applause. I'm glad Hancock won Album of the Year. Long overdue.

And Winehouse is still stoned; I'm guessing it's methadone to wean her off heroin. But yeah, make no mistake, still very high. I've actually been in rehab so yeah, high.

End of chat.

The Grammy's Herbie Hancock Gershwin Rhapsody in Blue Lang Lang Frank Sinatra Alicia Keyes The Beatles Kanye West Vince Gill Burt Bacharach

The Second Greatest Showbiz Story Ever Told

And I say second because Tonight Show veteran, American Comedy Award winner, and hilarious friend Cathy Ladman told the greatest one about Mike Nichols on her blog recently. I jacked the concept from her because since I've started blogging five days a week, ideas are now a luxury I can no longer afford.

So, I was living in New York but visiting L.A. twice a year because my sister lived out here. A year after I began doing standup she started dating Johnny Carson.

The back story here is that my mother was the Carson fan. She was a teacher with chronic insomnia and a bad marriage so she spent her evenings watching Johnny and grading papers. I too had insomnia and would join her every night. When I tell you that my parents yelled at me for much less, it was amazing that I was allowed to stay up and watch The Tonight Show. And trust me, I had the grades to prove it.

So fast forward to 1984, when my sister was dating Carson. He had a beach house on Pacific Coast Highway and was also dating Alex, the woman who would become his wife. My sister knew about Alex but I'm not sure Alex knew about my sister.

I arrived in L.A. and my sister told me we were going to have dinner with Johnny at Chasen's. Any goal I had in life went right out the window because at that point in time, I had achieved the ultimate one. Dinner with the Sensei. And. He laughed at everything I said.

My sister and I went down to Malibu another day to meet him at his house. Again, he laughed at anything I said because I was knocking myself out at this point. My head could have flown off and blood could have been spewing everywhere but if Johnny laughed at that, mission accomplished. But I was making him laugh without jokes or punch lines, just unstructured riffs off of what he said or what I saw out the window. And that's where I got into trouble.

After an entire afternoon of watching people on the beach and listening to Johnny play the drums, he turned to me and said, "Call this number and tell Jim M. that I want you to be seen for the show." And I froze. Solid. I'd been doing standup for about 8 months. Standup takes a million years to get 5 perfect minutes and even with the little knowledge I had at the time, I knew I would never make the cut. The God of standups wanted me to audition and I had about 32 seconds of television-ready material. Maybe less.

Timing really is everything.

I never called the booker. I didn't want to embarrass myself and in my mind, make Johnny look like he had made the wrong choice.

I finally moved to L.A. in the 90's. I'd been doing standup for about 9 years at that point. My agent got me an audition for the same Tonight Show booker, Jim M., who knew nothing of my previous relationship with Johnny. And I didn't mention it. When you do standup, you worry about the guy in the third row with the crossed arms and a scowl on his face. The entire room could give you a standing O but if Scowly McThirdrow didn't, it would haunt you for weeks. What would I do if I didn't get the show after saying I knew Johnny and that he had wanted to help me all those years ago? Probably kill myself is a good guess. So I kept quiet.

I was auditioning along with two male standups from my agency. The night went very well and we all had terrific sets and my agent said to me, "Of all the comics I've auditioned over the years, you're the only one Jim M. ever applauded." I thought the gig was a lock.

Days went by. I heard nothing. Finally I called my agent and asked him what was going on and he said that the Tonight Show had picked one of the two guys from our agency. I asked him if they said anything about me and he said no. I asked him if he at least mentioned me to Jim M. and he said no. When I asked him why he said, "I didn't want to rock the boat."

I hear those words in the middle of my nightmares where I'm naked in front of strangers and running down an unfamiliar street trying to get to the math test I never studied for.

Many, many months later I auditioned for The Dennis Miller Show and the new booker for the Tonight Show, Jim B., was in the room. At this point The Tonight Show had been considering me every 6 months for about two years and I couldn't wait any longer for my agent to "not rock the boat." I asked Jim B. if I had any chance at all and he said I was too edgy for the show. I told him I had just booked Starsearch and he blanched. Starsearch didn't do edgy but I had changed my persona to get the gig. There's this little thing called rent that apparently you have to deal with every month.

So I got Starsearch but never got The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. It's one of my biggest regrets and I'm sure I speak for thousands of comedians when I say that. But I made one of my comedy idols laugh. And I can live with that.

End of chat.

DAVID BRENNER Interview

The first time I met David Brenner I was at a club in New York and he was standing at the edge of the dance floor. I walked over to him and pretended to watch what he was watching so I could talk to him. I probably said something very mean, yet surely true, about the people dancing and he laughed. He was incredibly nice and very funny and we went back and forth for about fifteen minutes. Then I noticed that my boyfriend, The Doctor Howard, was glaring at me from our table and I ended the conversation. As I walked away David said, “You should do standup.” He said that if I did I ought to contact his agent at the William Morris Agency. I was naïve back then and thought I had about a hundred years to come up with an act and that William Morris would automatically accept my calls at any time in the future. I was wrong, as I usually am about my career. The men I date. Or picking the right cantaloupe.

Many, many years later we met again on the New York set of Every Day with Joan Lunden, and David was the guest co-host. By then I was doing standup full time. Talk shows are impossibly difficult to do since the studio audience isn’t being served alcohol, which someone really needs to look into. But I heard Brenner laughing behind me and that’s what kept me going. I’m pretty sure he was the only one laughing.

I then ran into him years later when he was doing a run-through for his own game show here in LA and I was booked as one of the practice contestants. The premise was that David, the host, had his ‘assistant’ sit at a desk next to the host’s podium and interrupt him with scheduling questions, phone calls etc. At one point the director yelled ‘Cut’ and David announced to the crew and the other comics that he had worked with me and that I was very funny. I had reminded him earlier that we had done Lunden’s show together but he didn’t have to make that comment; it was just a nice thing to do. I had brought my copy of David’s book People Never See You Eat Tuna Fish to the set and at the end of the day I asked him to sign it for me. I clutched it to my 44DD’s all the way back to the parking lot, afraid to even peek at it in case it was bad news. (Dear Suzy, stop stalking me) How many of you gasped when you read how huge my boobs are? I could hear some of you from here. Fools, I don’t have 44DD’s. Yet.

I sat in my little grey Ford Festiva and opened the cover gingerly. He had written To Suzy, you are so funny. Trust me on this one; male comics are not that charitable when they refer to female comics. But David was a class act and he remains one of the most positive and generous comics I have ever known.

The last time we worked together was in Miami, for a variety show that was in pre-production. I had been hired as the head writer and often spoke with David on the phone since he was the host. Eventually the Executive Producer of that show stole all the money, took his coke stash and headed for parts unknown.

David comes from the generation of comedians that was really, really famous. They got that way without the help of reality TV or HBO specials. They didn’t need the comedy boom in the 80’s to help them either because they were working steadily long before that. David shares this legacy with other legends like George Carlin, Richard Pryor, Robert Klein and Bill Cosby.

Even though David has this to say about his web page, The eyewitness report on the sinking of the Hesperus is more up to date than my website, check it out for details on why I Think There's a Terrorist in My Soup came together as a book based on the aftermath of 9/11.

Suzy: Don’t you hold a record for how many times you were on The Tonight Show?

David: Yes and also for The Mike Douglas Show, and I’ve been a guest on more talk shows than any entertainer in the history of TV. It’s nice to hold such records, but let me tell you what it is really worth. If after performing a show I were to invite everyone in the audience to join me at a nearby bar for drinks on me, and after we all drank and had some laughs I went up to the cashier and said “I hold the record for the most appearances on The Tonight Show, Mike Douglas and have been a guest on more talk shows than anyone else,” she would reply “That’ll be $895.00, sir.”

Suzy: What are you the most proud of in what has been a long and remarkable career?

David: That I hold the record for…no, sorry. It’s that I never phoned in a show, always did the best I could every time I walked onto a stage, no matter how few were in the audience or how physically sick I felt, as long as they weren’t neo-Nazis.

Suzy: You’re one of the most prolific comics working today. How many minutes do you write every year? And just to give this question perspective, I write about 10 minutes a year and I’m lying.

David: If each joke lasts only two seconds, that is very impressive. Since I work off current events and the news, I do some new stuff every night, so I would guess that I write about twenty or thirty hours a year, but it’s easy for me, because I write on stage. 99.9% of all the jokes I’ve done were originally adlibs, but this is not a qualitative statement, just a difference in style, because the comedian who sits at the computer writing is just as talented.

Suzy: What’s the worst thing that has happened to you because you’re a celebrity?

David: About thirty people spotted me in front of a store on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills one day and crowded around for autographs. Then more people noticed the crowd around me and they too joined the group. I could hear the plate glass window of the store behind me starting to give. I tried warning the group but no one listened to me so finally I just said loudly, “I’m so flattered that you’re asking for my autograph with Robert Redford standing around that corner.” I signed for the one probably deaf old lady who didn’t run away.

Suzy: What’s the best thing that has happened to you because you’re a celebrity?

David: Jack Benny said it first and it’s true – not waiting in line in restaurants, and the other is that I kept my childhood promise of making enough money someday to get everyone in my family and my street corner friends out of the slums.

Suzy: You said in an email to me that you don’t give a shit anymore and I’m guessing that pertains to Hollywood?

David: No, because I never did care about Hollywood and all the bullshit. I meant that nothing, absolutely nothing about show business bothers me anymore, from hearing other comedians doing my jokes and chunks of my act on sitcoms and specials to not hearing back from producers who said they loved me and wanted me for their projects.

Suzy: You have so many great stories but one of my favorites is the one you told me about how lots of comics couldn’t get gigs in Vegas in the 60’s, or was it the 70’s, because Rock and Roll had become king in that town. But yet you managed to work there on a regular basis.

David: I had been the opening act for Sonny and Cher from the time we first worked together at the Sahara Hotel in Vegas in 1971, when they were trying to make a comeback, right through their very last show together. The sudden demise of this hot duo left me with very little work booked for the remaining nine months of the year. In order to not drop off the monetary map (go broke), I walked into my agent's office, told him to put my ego in the bottom drawer of his desk and lower my price for one nighters and weekly gigs, figuring that when buyers could hire me for the same price as comedians not as popular, I'd get the gigs. It worked. On January 1 of the next year, my agent gave me back my ego and I raised my prices higher than they had ever been, which also worked.

After a few years of being the co-headliner in Vegas, I had offers from many of the hotels/casinos to be their exclusive headliner, based on estimations of my drawing 900 customers a show, often filling more seats than the headliners. Headliners made more money, as much as 25% more. Maybe even more appealing, their names were on the top of the marquee and they were called ‘Headliners.’ Once again, I put my ego in a bottom drawer and remained a co-headliner. Why? Do the math. Let's say the headliner earned $100,000 a week and the co-headliner got only $75,000 (which is far from 'only.') The headliner's exclusive contract called for six or eight weeks a year = $600,000 or $800,000 a year. I freelanced, worked all the hotels, mostly hired by headliners who knew I guaranteed them full houses for which they got all the credit. For over a decade, I averaged a yearly twenty to twenty-five weeks of work = $1,500,000 or $1,875,000 a year, so, bullshit titles & marquee placement aside, who made more money in Vegas?

Suzy: If you could give someone thinking of becoming a comic a piece of advice, what would it be?

David: Be original, talk only about what you know, feel and believe. Listen only to the audiences and not managers and agents and never give up.

Suzy: Jerry Lewis once famously said that women weren’t funny. Many club owners still agree with him and many of us have been discriminated against. Have you ever been discriminated against as a comic?

David: Only when I dress as a woman. No, I’ve always been accepted, and let me say that I believe women are just as funny as men and it's a disgrace that there is a glass ceiling above them in comedy.

Suzy: Who makes you laugh? I mean, besides me.

David: I still love the comedians my father had me watch – the old timers, and I think that it is a shame that most of the young comedians today don’t even know who came before them, because to know where you are and where you are going, you have to know where you’ve been. I had a meeting with the young head of comedy development for one of the networks, and I mentioned group comedians, such as The Ritz Brothers, The Marx Brothers and Abbott and Costello, and I could tell from his blank eyes that he didn’t know who they were and I said something about him not knowing them. He replied, “Come on, David, they’re before my time.” I said, “The Civil War is before my time, but I know all about it.” Needless to say, I didn’t get the development deal.

Suzy: Is there anything in your career that you wish you had done but didn’t?

David: Hit the lottery, so I could quit performing and sail the parts of the world I haven’t seen yet. No, I have no regrets. I’ve danced around the top for more years than most and am grateful.

Suzy: If you had your life to live over, what would you do differently?

David: Not be born so damn poor and age only ten days every year.

OJ Can't Get On TV, Michael Richards Can't Get Off

I met Michael Richards twice. Once at a birthday party for the late Phil Hartman and once when I did Seinfeld, the show, not the man. Focus, people.

I was introduced to him at Phil’s party and Michael was gruff, uncommunicative and withdrawn. I thought what I always thought when I met someone in Hollywood who acted like him: He’s high and if he talks, everyone will know.

I did Seinfeld less than a year later. The first person to introduce themselves was Jason Alexander. He walked right up to me and stuck his hand out, welcomed me to the show and gave his name. I’d known Jerry for over ten years since we did standup together in NYC. Julia introduced herself during the actual filming of our scene. But I had no scenes with Richards so I didn’t see him until there was a break on set. I walked over to him and reminded him of my name and that we had met at Phil Hartman’s party. He glanced at me, made some grunting noise and walked away. That would normally not be out of the ordinary given my track record with celebrities. I do make people run screaming into the night.

I didn’t go near Michael Richards for the rest of the shoot. Comedians are notoriously strange individuals with idiosyncratic behavior that can border on the insane, see Andy Dick, Andy Kaufman, Roseanne Barr, Robin Williams and of course, the beloved Donald Rumsfeld. So I passed it off as such.

Sidebar: During the shoot, I stepped on one of Julia’s lines. For those of you who have normal lives and jobs and may not know what that means, it meant I started talking before she finished her speech. The director yelled ‘cut’ and as we waited for notes from Larry David, I apologized to Julia. “What for?” she asked me. I told her I had stepped on her line and would be more careful next time. She said she hadn’t even noticed. Jerry looked at me, took a beat and said, “Your first time doing comedy, Suzy?”

The word on the street in L.A. is that Richards had taken to the comedy club stages some time ago in an effort to remain in the public eye. The word was also that he sucked and sucked big time. He was not a comic. He was a funny actor. I’ve never met a comedian who hasn’t been heckled. It’s part of our job. It’s like a dressing-down from the boss, which in our case is two hundred and fifteen drunken bosses. After years in front of a mike, you get better with the hecklers. You either have previously-used comebacks to shut them up or you ignore them. I make the heckler come on stage with me. I tell him that he is probably funnier than I am so I want to hear a joke. I hand him the mike and walk to the back of the stage. The heckler breaks into a cold sweat, can’t say anything because of the primal fear that doing standup brings out of you like measles on a seven year old, and then hears from the audience the very thing he has been telling the comic, “You suck.”

It’s a beautiful thing.

I’m upset that they cancelled the O.J. interview. The only other person who is as upset as I am is my friend Louise McLoserstene. Even though we both know he’s guilty, we wanted to Hear Him Confess. If I Did It was a confession. After years of hearing people complain and grouse about how he got off scott-free, I would have thought the public would want their pound of flesh.

Yes, we know O.J. just wanted back in the limelight (see Michael Richards' success with that); we know O.J. is a murderer. But if we had seen it, seen him cry like a little girl, the public abuse would have been worse. He would be even more vilified than he is now. Ron and Nicole aren’t coming back any time soon. All we have left is the man who murdered them and was going to tell us how he might have (really did) do it. Yes, I know it’s in the book. But folks, TV interviews are FREE. End of chat.

Step Away From The Celebrities 2

Two weeks ago I was pulling into a spot at Mayfair Market here in the Hollywood Hills when I saw a sleek, silver car park about twenty feet away from me. The driver of the car and I met up at the same time at the entrance of Gelson's.

"Excuse me, what kind of car is that?"
"It's a..."
"Oh my GOD, you're Patrick... Stewart? No, this guy was not bald. Ewing? No, this guy was not black. Swayze? No, this guy was not dancing.

It was McDreamy, who I know has a last name but seriously, what's the point? For the first time in my life a man rendered me speechless. I mean, besides George W. Bush.

McDreamy was wearing a tight, navy blue ribbed sweater and had one of those scalp-hugging knit hats on in the same color. And jeans. Really nice, butt-hugging jeans. Like you didn't want to know.

"I love your show," I said as he started walking (running) away from me.
"Thank you, very kind," he said turning left (breaking into a full gallop) into produce. He eats produce. How cool is that?
"Truly great show."
"Much appreciated," he shouted over his shoulder as he approached a security guard. Is he hotter in person than he is on the show? Oh fuck yes. It was like looking at someone through a pink gel, the ones they put over the lenses in movie making (and that I'm trying to have installed here Chez Soro) that make you look soft and line-free. The Sex Factor was dripping off him like a Popsicle melting in the sun. I might have to take a teensy, me-time break here...

I was down in Santa Monica months ago and as I pulled up to a light, I looked in my rear view mirror and saw ten black SUVs queued up like gamers waiting for the new PlayStation 3. That can only mean one thing in this town, paparazzi or bodyguards for someone really important. I glanced to my left and in the Benz next to me were Maria Shriver and the Governor of our mentally unbalanced Democratic state, the Republican Arnold Schwarzenegger. I had just seen Maria on Oprah, where she discussed her upbringing and how the Kennedys and their spouses always encouraged their kids to be of public service and to always be doing something with their lives. Her mother Eunice Kennedy Shriver started the Special Olympics and her father Sargent Shriver started The Peace Corps. Maria had just published another book when she went home to her parents' house. Her father asked her what she was doing. She replied that her book had just come out and he said, "You wrote that book two years ago, what's next?" Apparently no one got to rest on their laurels, or a chair.

So there sat Maria in the passenger seat of the California State Benz, staring at me. I mouthed the words I LOVE YOU to her. She smiled and mouthed back THANK YOU. Then I nodded towards her husband and mouthed, NOT HIM, JUST YOU. She must have laughed out loud because Arnold looked over at her and thank God the light turned green and I took off. I do not need a state tax audit thank you very much.

The reason I talk to all these people and make a fool of myself is because the one time I wanted to talk to someone who had changed my life, my ex-boyfriend Gary, one of three guys I was engaged to in my life, told me not to.

We were at a New York Friar's Club roast for Milton Berle. Gary was a very distant cousin of Milton's and had just completed a documentary of him for the Museum of Broadcasting. The roast was to coincide with the documentary of this legendary comedian. Every major Hollywood and New York comedian was on the dais. When the roast was over, Gary and I mingled, said our goodbyes to Milton and then headed for the exit. We got to the elevators and as the door opened, the two people ahead of us stepped inside. It was Lucille Ball and Gary Morton. I looked at my Gary with wide eyes. He shook his head No. I gave him the Are You Fucking Kidding Me look and again he nodded No. As I stood there fuming I looked over at Lucy. She had backed into a corner and had her face down, staring at the fascinating linoleum floor of the elevator. Her Gary was standing a few feet away and staring into space.

She did not want to be recognized. She did not want to hear for the 80 trillionth time that I was her biggest fan. That because of her I went into comedy when I was 14 and never looked back. That I once did the Lucy Cry at an audition in New York and got the callback and it was for a Shakespeare production. That I have watched I Love Lucy my entire life and tried to figure out what it was that made her a genius. The most famous comedian in the world wanted her privacy. So I kept my mouth shut. And have been regretting it every day of my life since. Thank God I didn't marry Gary. Seriously.

End of chat.

Step Away from the Celebrities

I can’t stop talking to celebrities. It's harder than when I gave up cigarettes and that took me two years and twenty pounds.

Most of them start out thinking they know me because I’m very affable, very non stalkerish, like I've known them all my life. Half of them are pleasant and the other half can hardly wait for me to walk away. Okay, probably all of them can hardly wait for that.

I always say the wrong thing when I open my mouth yet it sadly doesn’t stop me from doing it again. I told Kathy Baker that I thought she was a brilliant actress and I watched everything she did and that I missed Picket Fences and seeing her on TV and she said she was on Boston Public.

Dr. Joyce Brothers once honked her horn at me and asked for directions. God knows where she ended up since after I told her what a fan I was and wouldn’t shut up; she stepped on the gas and ran a red light. And for the record, I’m not a fan of Dr. Joyce Brothers, I don't even think she's a celebrity and I'm unclear as to whether or not she's still alive.

I met Mick Jagger when the Stones were on tour in Paris. My sister was dating Ron Wood (the guitarist who replaced Brian Jones) at the time and I was starring in a cabaret show. Every night they were in town, I would head over to their hotel after my show to meet my sister. I was a big Jagger fan and I was dying to meet (have sex with) him. One night I saw him walking towards me. I met him half way and we both stopped. He smiled and I asked him where the ladies room was.

I met Oprah on the set of a movie I was filming here in LA and bored her to distraction with a tale of how male standups never let me watch her show in the condos we had to share on the road. Later on, when we were all on set, I looked at her and she waved at me. I turned around to see who she was waving at but there was no one there. I looked at her again and she waved again and once more I looked behind me. There was no one there. I looked back at Oprah and she waved and pointed to me over and over. Finally I got it and waved back. Lame a Go Go.

Believe me, I don’t start out thinking I’m going to talk to these people but somehow, like a heroin addiction, it overtakes me and suddenly I’m tying off and shooting up inane conversation.

I was down in Malibu one day with a friend and the stalkerazzi were following Pam Anderson. She and her children went into the Cross Creek pet shop and the photogs all huddled outside like piranhas, waiting for her to come out. My friend and I ducked into the book store next door since we wanted to get a look at her. When she finally emerged, the paparazzi went ape shit and I lost it. I ran outside waving my arms and screaming at them to leave her alone, that she was with her kids and to just stay away from her. Pam (like I know her) jumped in her SUV, threw it into reverse and sped off while I was still yelling. After she got away I went back into the book store to retrieve my friend.
“Those assholes, they scared her half to death.”
“Uhhh Suzy? I think she was more afraid of you.”

End of chat.