Thursday, March 31, 2011

Rejection Letters, Curtis Stone and the Dangers of Satellite Radio

Rejection Letters, Hot Australian Chefs and Commercial Free Radio.

What do they have in common ? Nothing. Except that apparently each one of them is in my life for good.

Let's break them down one item at a time.

#1. THE LETTER: A rejection letter is the steaming turd on every hopeful writer's doorstep.

Yesterday I was riding high on the four outstanding fulls/three partials of SUMMER ON THE SHORT BUS, when I received notification that I had a new email. An email sent to my writing only email address! WAHOO! I clicked on the message, doing my best to ignore my inner pessimist Marge who says, "it's another rejection, stupid!" and eagerly await for what is bound to be another agent ready to represent me.

And then it happens...

My throat thickens, my shoulders sag to my elbows and I unknowingly mutter a curse word under my breath.

"Dear Author, please forgive the impersonal nature of this email..."

Ugh! Sigh. DRAT!

As if throwing a rejection turd in my face isn't bad enough, now you can't even call me by name when you do it? Is there no intern in your bustling, boutique agency who can be tasked with the job of inserting BETHANY into this email?

I know, I know, relax RookieRiter. Rejection is part of life. I get it. I understand that preferences in this business are as varied as Kirstie Allie's Crispy Kreme order, and that it only takes one "yes" to make it happen, but it doesn't make the initial sting any less painful.

I'm feeling sort of depressed now, so let's move on.

#2: CURTIS STONE:We were first introduced to Curtis as an occasional guest chef on The Biggest Loser, then got to know him much better during his stint on Celebrity Apprentice. Curtis is impossibly attractive, comfortably arrogant, and has that sexy, down-under accent that makes grown women rip off their undies and throw them on stage. (Okay...maybe not in a kitchen setting, but I'd totally rip my apron strings for him). Lately I've been enjoying him on the new NBC reality show, AMERICA'S NEXT GREAT RESTAURANT, but this morning, while watching last night's TOP CHEF finale, learned that he's going to be the host of the new season TOP CHEF MASTERS--yum, yum, more Curtis for me!

So, if you aren't familiar with Curtis beyond this blog, just tune into NBC, or any of their affiliates, because it seems this Aussie is here to stay and he's taking over America one high-definition flat screen at a time!

And finally,

#3: Satellite Radio

When I bought my first, brand new car three years ago, I assumed the one-year, free subscription to Sirius radio that came along with my new car payment would be little more than a novelty. Perhaps some light comedy while running errands on a busy weekend--some Sinatra for a rainy day. Yeah, right! I'm hooked like a street corner junkie, and yesterday I hit rock bottom.

I was tuned into the all 90's channel. Not the alternative 90's channel I usually listen to, but the top 40 type station. The variety is good--Aerosmith, U2, Stone Temple Pilots, Depeche Mode--it's the Souplantation of music for those of us who graduated high school in the 90's. Anyway, one minute I'm singing along to that Sugar Ray song, "I just wanna fly," looking like a regular schmo navigating the congested San Diego freeway system, and the next I'm bustin' moves like the very Anglo-Dutch/German girl I am. The very moment "Ice, Ice, Baby," pumped through the Bose speakers I knew I'd reached a very low, sad place in my life.

Driving with the windows down, sunroof open, and enough blond hair to cover a small village, earns me more attention on my daily commute than I care to discuss--add some white girl rhythm and the memories of Andy Wulgemuth's keg party my junior year to the mix and you've got a recipe for disaster--or at the very least, a life-long subscriber to satellite radio.

Like them or not, these things are in my life for the long-haul. I guess I should just embrace them and move on. I believe I'll start with Curtis...