Dear Seth Rogen

I hate to report that I am in the midst of a family feud.  And what’s worse, the family that I am feuding with has no idea that we are feuding.  This family that I speak of is my own.  Specifically, my father.  That’s right, Seth Rogen, my dad - the man who is friends with your parents’ friend and the one whose existence connected us in the first place - is now vying for his piece of my “celebrity pie”… which happens to be pumpkin flavored for the holiday. 

I know this must sound very confusing to you.  I can understand that.  How is it even possible for a father to begrudge his daughter the celebrity that she worked so hard for?  How would a father even attempt to compete with his daughter?  Well, Seth Rogen, leave it to my father, with his cunning yet crazy medical libertarian genius, to find a way.

My father, who once told me that I am the new face of comedy, is attempting to become the new face of medicine.  Literally.  You see, John C. Lincoln, a big Phoenix hospital, has decided to promote their surgical services with billboards.  These billboards use the face of a local doctor to  establish a sense of familiarity and compassion.  John C. Lincoln asked my dad to provide his tender mug for the billboard, and he was only too eager to pounce on the opportunity.  Now, when Phoenix drivers head down loop 101, they are forced to take their eyes off the road in order to view the 20’ x 30’ Richard Dreyfus look-a-like that is my father.  On particularly bright days the sun will reflect off his shiny forehead, blind drivers, cause a traffic accident, and result in new customers for John C. Lincoln.  Brilliant.

Back in Hollywood, I have only become the new face of comedy in the figurative sense.  My agent assures me that I am a star, and explains that the reason I don’t get called in for auditions at the moment has nothing to do with a lack of funny.  I probably don’t get called in, because at my level, an audition really isn’t necessary.  I’ll simply be notified when a roll is created for me.  But it’s not fair, Seth Rogen.   In my father’s line of work, he has so many more opportunities to become a household name.  It’s not as if actresses and comedians have the same opportunities to have their faces plastered on large signs.  Unlike a surgeon, a comedian must actually do hard work to get recognized.

Seth Rogen, I don’t know what to do.  My brother-in-law, Matt, was recently featured in the local Palo Alto paper for his veterinary tech skills, but his story was humbly tucked away on page 17.  Matt understands where the spotlight in the family is meant to land and he didn’t push for the front page or a gaudy billboard. 

How do I tell my dad that I am uncomfortable with his desperate need to compete with me to become the most successful Singer?  I mean, a little competition is healthy, but I don’t want him to get hurt.  He is simply a general surgeon in one of the most prestigious major medical groups, and I think it’s pretty obvious who would win that battle. ;)   What would you do?  You’re always there when I need you.



Debbie

Become a fan on Facebook.  Follow Debbie on Twitter.

I have a lot to do this evening in preparation for the Thanksgiving festivities. I am driving from Santa Monica to Phoenix at 5 o’clock in the morning in hopes of beating some of the holiday traffic. I’ve still got to do my laundry, pack my bags and make my famous “Turkey Jello.” Making it won’t be a problem, but will there time for it to settle and cool?

Apparently, my tight schedule is causing me to be rather forgetful. As I was packing my Hello Kitty duffel bag, it suddenly dawned on me, Seth Rogen… I never gave you directions to my parent’s house for Turkey Day! Write this down: You want to take the I-10 east to the 52. Exit Shea. When you get to my parent’s gated community on Tatum, buzz us on the call box. Just say, “It’s me, Seth Rogen!” We’ll open the gate. And if you could pass those directions along to Billy Joel, that would be helpful.

I made a mistake, Seth Rogen. I had a ladies only, pre-Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving reenactment dinner. I provided the bird. My girlfriends brought “Thanksgiving-y” dishes. Of course, everyone came dressed as a Pilgrim or Indian to help set the mood.

Apparently, Pilgrim costumes are a little harder to come by. My Thanksgiving reenactment dinner was sans Pilgrim. On the bright side, we all got along and nobody contracted smallpox.

Anyway, my mistake, Seth Rogen, was having Thanksgiving right before Thanksgiving. All week long I have had nothing but leftovers. I had a turkey omelet for breakfast, a turkey sandwich for lunch, and tonight it is was turkey burgers. Now, in just a matter of hours, I will hit the road for Arizona, where the state bird is the cactus wren. However, the wren’s meat is not nearly as tender as the turkey’s. And so every year at Thanksgiving, the Singer family gathers and eats, not a cactus wren (like the Arizona Indians used to eat), but a turkey.

Seth Rogen, did you know that Benjamin Franklin would have preferred the turkey be made the national bird of the United States? He called it a “bird of courage,” though he admitted the turkey was a little “vain and silly.” Just think, if the turkey were the national bird, we might be eating Bald Eagle on Thanksgiving.

Whether we are carving a Turkey, a Bald Eagle, or a Dove (Thomas Jefferson’s choice for national bird), I’d be honored to share a Thanksgiving meal with you, Seth Rogen. I really am so excited. Almost as excited as I am about my two shows in Scottsdale at The Comedy Spot. Just think, Seth Rogen, we’ll eat, we’ll laugh and you’ll meet my entire family. I have so much to be thankful for.

Until then…

Debbie