Small Progress is Never Bad

Things are going very well.  In life.  Stand-up is a part of that.  But things are just going really, really well right now.

This move to New York was perhaps, all things considered, the best decision I’ve made in my life.  It has led to everything.  The people I’m around are incredible.  I’m surrounded by the greatest minds and greatest bodies in the world.  Both of which are more important than I realized, before I moved here.

I love everyone.  I hope I get a chance to explain why, before I lose this collective form and become a part of everyone and everything else.

Anyway - have a good Monday.

Writing a Script, and Awesome People

I just spent the past two weeks in Austin, Texas, where I once called home.  It was honestly two of the better and more forward-moving weeks of my life, and I'm excited to write about the experience.

Stand-up is going wonderfully, as I continue to get better and better at exactly what I want to be doing onstage, instead of feeling like I have to handcuff myself to anything that's been done before.

I continue to find amazing, exciting, passionate people as I wind my way through life.  As far as trying to stay passionate and trying to live the best life I can, these encounters are like having someone hand you a cup of water while you're in the middle of a marathon.  A lot of times, you don't spend a lot of time with them.  But man, does that cup of water help.

And some of those people, it's a different analogy.  I can't think of it right now.  It's like another runner, I guess.  And you just happen to be running, and you both notice each other.  And you just kind of nod.  And then you start running together.  And you challenge each other, and you both start running faster.  And it's just awesome.

I've met some really fast runners.  And they make me want to run as fast as I can.  And it makes life a fucking blast.  It really does.

If you have awesome people around you, odds are good that you're life is going to be awesome. It's going to be fun, and exciting, and you won't get bored with it.  It's almost impossible.  There are just so many awesome things happening all around you.  Whether you want them to or not.

That's the key to my life, right now.  Is just having awesome people all around me.  It's making my life incredible.

One of them is my (basically) sister, Lydia.  I'll write more about her sometime.  But she's great.  She's a scriptwriter. And she came to me about two months ago, and asked if I wanted to co-write a script with her.

I said yes.  And we have been.  Which is part of the reason I haven't been blogging.  Though another part - as it always is - is just that I haven't been blogging.  If that makes sense.

I can't stay long.  I wrote this in 10 minutes.  Which is probably the best thing I could do.  Is write something so quickly that I don't have time to care about it.  Here it is.  It's done.  An update.

I'm writing a script.  And it feels fucking awesome.  Sorry for the cursing.  But you get the point.

Life is good.  My trip to Austin was inspiring, and my trip home - a 60-hour odyssey on an Amtrak train - was the best decision I've made in a while.

Now I'm back in New York City.  My home.  And today is the last day of August.  8 months down in 2012.  4 months to go.  I don't think I've ever been more excited for a 4-month stretch.  I've packed a ton of life into 8 months.  And there's little reason to think the next 4 won't be pretty awesome, too.

It's all about the people around me.  That's the whole game.  Which is why New York is such an amazing place.  You slowly find people, that inspire you, and you get over your fear that you're not worthy, and you just try to put yourself around amazing people as much as you can.

This place makes you super humble.  But I can think my life is awesome, and still be humble.

When everyone else in my life is awesome, my life is going to be awesome, even if I totally suck!

Maybe I do, maybe I don't.  But it's starting to matter to me less and less, whether I suck or not.  My life is awesome.  I feel very lucky.  But a lot of life is a coin with no heads or tails on it.  We just kind of flip it, and then decide what we see.

Life is a coin with no heads or tails.  Yes? Do you get it?

At least that's what my brain tells me.  And that's all I have to go off of.  If your brain disagrees, then more power to you.  But that's what it looks like from here.  Just so you know.

Love,
Bryson

Even when unnecessary, captions are fun

Being a Good New Yorker

I could be doing more.  I could always be doing more.  All of us could.  So even though I feel like a piece of shit, I have to train myself to not feel too bad.  Because at some point, it’s not logical.  If everyone feels like shit, then there’s something wrong with how we decide whether or not to feel shitty.

It’s been a somewhat lazy two weeks.  Which sucks, because two weeks ago, I felt like I was on top of the world, and firing on all cylinders, and whatever other term means I was kicking ass.

But I didn’t blog back then.  I’m blogging right now, on a Friday, after a week where I spent more time playing apps than pretty much everything else combined.

For the sake of fairness, though, why don’t I share a story from two weeks ago, when things felt great.  I’ll tell you a story of being a good New Yorker.

________________________

The subway system in New York is pretty good, all things considered.  It’s not as clean as DC’s, but it’s open 24-7-365.  And that should count for something.

The thing that sucks is, if it’s really late at night, it’s barely open 24-7.  As in, trains are only scheduled to come once every half-hour - and that’s if they’re running on schedule.  So if you get into the subway at 2 a.m. and just miss your train, that means you’re probably going to be stuck there for another 30 minutes, waiting for the next one.  And you may still have to transfer to another train, which could mean another 30-minute wait.

Last night, my last mic ended at 2:05 in the morning.  I was at the subway station by 2:15, but I ended up waiting until 3 before my train came.  Then I waited another 20 minutes to transfer to the train that goes by my house.  And so even though my night ended at 2:05, I didn’t get back to my apartment until almost 4 in the morning.

Some nights, you luck out.  Some nights, you don’t.

That’s backstory, so that you understand.  Because I was getting home from a mic two weeks ago, late. Maybe 2 or 3 in the morning.  I forget.

And as I left the subway, I saw a lady running down the steps, trying to catch the train.  She was running, but she wasn’t going to make it, which meant another 30 minutes of waiting before she could even start heading to wherever she was going.

So instead of leaving right away, I just kind of lingered by the train.  And when the doors of the train started closing, I just stuck my arm back into the train.  And I just held it there.  And as subway doors do, they re-opened, and then tried to re-close.  And so they kind of closed on my arm again, but because they couldn’t close all the way, they opened back up and tried again.

Before the doors could try to close a third time, the woman had made it down the stairs, and she slid through the doors, and onto the train.

Then I kind of waved to the train conductor guy, as I started up the stairs.  I meant it in a “nothing personal” kind of way.  But he could have easily seen it in a “Chalk up another one for the 99 percent, asshole!” kind of way.

Then again, at 3 in the morning, it’s quite possible he didn’t give a shit either way.

But that lady definitely did.  I’ll never see her again.  But I saved her a half-hour.  If you don’t live in New York, just trust me:  in that moment, that means something.  That half-hour is the difference between a good mood and a bad mood.  Between a good night and a bad night, sometimes.

More often, it’s the difference between a good next day and a bad next day.  I’m telling you - it’s huge.

When I first moved here, I wouldn’t have done that.  I wouldn’t have known I was allowed to do that.  I would have felt like it’s not my place, or that I might get my arm chopped off.  Or one of those other hundred reasons we don’t do a cool thing, in the exact moment when we have the chance.  Because we just think about it too much.  And then we spend the next ten minutes regretting that we didn’t just do it.

I didn’t think about it.  I just stuck my arm in, took a few shots for the team, and sent that lady on her way.

That’s when you’re kicking ass at New York.  It’s just like stand-up, or improv, or anything else:  you learn the rules, so you know when to break them.  When you stop thinking so damn much, you start really kicking ass.

I’m becoming a better stand-up comic.  Which is helping make me a better New Yorker.  Which is helping make me a better person.

Forward.

It’s very hot today.

New York Comedy Scene Progress

I’ll get into the more personal ways in which I feel like I’m progressing soon.  But I wanted to mention that it’s Thursday, June 14.  And tonight, I’m on a show at Kabin, which is a bar in East Village, over in Manhattan.  It’s one of the better weekly shows in the city, and I’m looking forward to performing on it.  I’m nervous, too.  But I’m excited to get to be on it.

The Thursday night show at Kabin is where Lucas and I saw Mike DeStefano perform, when we first moved here over a year ago.

It’s not a set that will make me famous or anything (there is no such thing, in case you haven’t figured that out yet), but it’s a really nice gesture to be invited to be on it.  It represents that people in and around the scene up here have a certain level of respect for me, and for what I try to do onstage.

So it’s not something that should affect how I approach my comedy, or anything like that.  But it’s something that I’ll accept, say “thank you” for, and then put it in my pouch, as I continue on my journey up here.

Sorry.  I’ve been playing an RPG video game this week.  So the pouch analogy felt like it fit.  But it probably didn’t.  Unless you, too, have purchased the “Humble Indie Bundle,” and have been celebrating your shows this past weekend by exploring the art of different types of nerds as yourself.

I’m a comedy nerd.  I’m hooked.  At least I think I am.  Time will tell.  But this weekend represented something.  Things feel very different, after those shows.

I’ll try to blog about that soon.  But I’m getting to do a great show tonight, and it’s a show that felt very unrealistic a year ago.  So it’s a nice day to reflect, write a quick blog to document it, and wonder what I’ll be doing one year from now, that seems unrealistic to me, in this moment.

Going on 18 months in New York City now.  This is where I’m supposed to be.  I’m earning my spot here.

Yes. Yes, I’m going to shower before the show.

How to Have Good Things Happen to You. (Do Them Yourself)

Time is weird.  I was getting really annoyed with how hot it was yesterday.  And I had a thought like “Why is it this hot already!?” -- like, why am I sweating in my jeans when it’s still winter?

Then I realized I’d forgotten to update my brain’s “The Month It Feels Like” app.  And so somehow, it’s just kind of felt like February for the past 3 months.

Well, it’s not February anymore.  We’re a week from June.

June, I said.  As in, the 6th month of the year.  As in, the year is almost half over.  This year - the one that just started - is roughly half gone.

It’s tempting to feel like I haven’t accomplished anything this year.  But honestly, I don’t think that’s true. I’ve written some blogs.  I’ve done a lot of open-mics.  I’ve done a few really fun shows.  I worked my butt off prepping for my Montreal audition, and I was thrilled with how it went.  I’ve been willing to bomb a lot of times, and as a result, I’ve come up with a lot of material.

And probably most notably, I agreed to perform the material I’ve written this past year - and to record the shows - at the Under St. Marks Theater, here in New York, on June 8-9.

But there’s more than that.

In addition to the stand-up that I’m doing here in New York, I’m starting to get involved in other stuff.  I’ve started writing sketches.  I’ve been working through my fears and inhibitions about writing a book.  I’ve been doing podcasts with people.

And I’ve started being a regular guest on a radio show.  It’s an internet radio show, and it’s hosted by Lawson Leong, a fellow comic here in NYC.  I was supposed to be a one-time guest, but when I came on, we had a blast.  So he had me back.  And I just finished up my third visit.  And I’ll be on again next Wednesday, May 30th.

Like I said, it’s an internet radio show.  So it’s not the type of sexy “break” that people imagine, when they dream of “making it” in New York.

But honestly, it might be better.  Because it’s the best type of New York story:  Lawson’s a young dude - 22, I think - and he lives with his family, in Brooklyn.  He’s been doing comedy for a few years, and he really wanted something cool to happen.  But on some random day, he just kind of realized, “Wait a second.  I don’t need to wait for permission do something cool.”

This may be a statue of Lawson, not actually him.  But you get the idea.

He liked Opie and Anthony growing up, and he loved when comics would come on and be willing to discuss controversial topics.  And he loved doing the same thing himself.  So he googled some shit (I’m guessing here), signed up for an account on blogtalkradio.com, and just started to figure it out as he went.  And humbly, in front of a crowd of no one, “Human Sacrifice Radio” was born.

Maybe it didn’t feel that cool to him.  But all of a sudden - to people that aren’t him, like me - it does seem pretty damn cool.  He has a radio show.  He does 3 a week.  He talks shit out, he rants, he laughs.  He’s doing something.  Producing something.

I’ve probably had a good time as a guest because our life philosophies overlap so much.  We both want to understand things.  We love getting past the knee-jerk reactions we have toward things, and really trying to dissect stuff.

I have no idea how many people listen to it.  Maybe 500.  Or maybe it’s just my mom (she’s already commented on my first two shows - she really enjoyed our 45-minute discussion about when sex with 15 year-olds is morally okay).

But I’m not really worried about getting famous off Lawson’s show.  It’s just awesome that I’ve found something fun and cool to be a part of.  And that I’ve crossed paths with someone who has both a desire to do cool things, and is willing to just shut up and do something, without worrying how it will make them look.

That’s what almost all “cool things” are, by the way:  they’re things that are only cool to the people on the outside.  If you - you, the person reading right now - were to start something...I can almost guarantee it won’t seem cool to you.  If you start a blog, or you write a web series, start an internet radio show - it’s not going to be sexy.  It’s not going to be “cool.”

To you, it won’t.  But that’s because we’re taught that cool things should just be cool.  Cool things shouldn’t require lots of work.  Cool things shouldn’t be a struggle.  Cool things shouldn’t not-be-fun sometimes.  Cool shouldn’t have to try.  Cool things should just be...cool. 


Well, they’re not.  Cool things are lame.  It would have been easy for Lawson to be like “An internet radio show?  That’s not cool - you don’t even need permission to do that.  Anyone can do it.  People would laugh at me.  Forget it.”  But instead, he got over his stupid pride - which was creating stupid fears - and just decided to do what he wanted to.  So now he has his own radio show.  And I get to be on it with him sometimes.

I think that’s pretty damn cool.

Today’s episode starts with us trying to responsibly discuss the merits of marijuana laws, before we fall off the tracks and end up defending children who are racist.  Here it is:

Listen to internet radio with Lawsoncomic89 on Blog Talk Radio

And if you enjoy that, you can check out the first two episodes I was on:

Monday, May 14:  We discuss how great it is to be white, whether Carlin and Pryor were overrated, and I jerk off to the thought of Patrice O’Neal.

Wednesday, May 16:  We debate whether it’s morally that big a deal to have sex with a 15 year-old.  Lawson’s 18 year-old sister co-hosts.  (Seriously)

Another Night at the Office

I did 3 sets last night. The first was an open-mic in midtown Manhattan.  The second was on “Short Bus,” a nice booked show at The Creek and the Cave.  And the third was back in Manhattan - a late-night, 2-minutes-each mic at a mostly-improv venue called The Pit.

To get from the first to the second, I took the 7-train, which heads east from Grand Central Station, underwater, and into Queens.  Walking there, I looked up, and saw this:

And something about the view, and the moment, just kind of hit me.  So I resisted the urge to be the New Yorker that’s “too cool to give a shit,” and I stopped, and I took that picture.

I too often forget how cool my life is.  I mean, I definitely get stressed out.  I definitely worry about what I’m doing with my life.  But at the end of the day, my life is pretty damn cool.
_______________________

I got an e-mail last week from one of my college roommates (I had a different one every year, because I was a nightmare to live with back then.  I never learned how to do my own laundry growing up, so my freshman year, when my gym socks got too disgusting to wear, I hid them in a drawer in my dorm room, like they were a dead body or something.  They stayed there for weeks, maybe months, and they called to me, like a smellier, gamier version of The Tell-Tale Heart.  God, I was a monster back then).

Anyway, me and this dude were good buddies in college, except for the year we lived together.  But he moved to Russia after we graduated, and we hadn’t caught up for years.

He didn’t mean to, but by asking for an update, he forced me to zoom out and look at the big picture of my life.

And honestly, my adult life is pretty much exactly what I’d hoped it would be.  I’m living in New York City, pursuing stand-up, and trying to meet cool people and connect with them.

Sometimes I forget to soak my life in.  I fall into the same traps that I think most people do:  I worry too much about how my week is going, not how my life is going.  I worry too much about how other people feel about me, and not how I actually feel.  I worry about whether or not I’m “making it,” or whether or not I’m “succeeding,” instead of thinking about what those words even mean.

So to my old roommate Todd - and to anyone else who is curious:  don’t be too worried about the daily highs and lows of my blog posts.  Yes, my life is filled with good days and bad days, just like everyone else.

But if you want to know how my life is going, look at the picture above.  For me - and my life right now - that’s just another night at the office.

I put on a shirt for this photo, Todd. You’re welcome.

Recording an Album

So I’ve been working on the details of this for the past month or so, and I finally have all the details nailed down (actually I’ve had the details nailed down for a couple weeks, but I’m just making them public now. In case you wanted full disclosure)

I’m going to be recording my first album two months from now, on the weekend of June 8-9, at the Under St. Marks Theater, here in New York City. It’s a small black box theater that seats about 50 people. I’ll be doing one show each night. I am already nervous and dreading them (again, if you want full disclosure).

I’ve decided - in my head, and hopefully in reality, too - to document the process of the next two months, as I prepare for those shows. I think that will be interesting for me to read, looking back, and hopefully it will provide some sort of release valve for my nerves, too. That’s the hope, at least. We’ll see.

Whatever. It basically means the next two months will be very exciting and very stressful for me. But it’s time, I think. It’s time to see where I’m at.

Right now, I really have to pee. Also I’m in a Starbucks. You’re welcome for the extra information. I hope it paints a picture for you.

So You’re Moving to New York...

I’m back in New York now, and I was out last night, trying to knock some of the rust off after two weeks with my family.

After my last mic of the night, I struck up a conversation with a comic that I was just meeting for the first time. It turned out he had just moved from Florida up to New York last week. We were headed to the same subway line to get home, so we continued the conversation - along with a couple other comics - while we waited for the subway.

When the G-train arrived, the five of us walked in together, and as we were sitting down, this new-to-town comic happened to kick the shoe of the guy sitting in the seat next to him.

And the guy, in a tone that was casual - but definitely scolding him - turned and said “You know, when you hit someone’s shoe, you really should apologize for it.”

The new comic was kind of thrown off for a second, but he recovered and quickly apologized.

It was no big deal, really. But it reminded me what it felt like when I first moved here. And especially what it felt like the couple times I’d visited here, years ago. I just hated the idea of people knowing I wasn’t from New York. I hated the idea of being the only person in the city that didn’t “know how to be a New Yorker.”

I felt like I was under a microscope. I kept screwing up which direction I had to insert my metro card when I got onto buses. I would go into a subway stop, only to realize I’d entered the “downtown” platform instead of the “uptown” one, and I’d have to pay again. I’d take the express train instead of the local, and we’d shoot 40 blocks past where I needed to be. I’d walk 5 blocks before I realized I was going north instead of south. I would spend roughly 6 minutes staring at the damn subway map, and still not know how to get to Astoria.

When someone else looked lost, I didn’t know whether to try and help, or to just ignore them. WWNYD? What Would a New Yorker Do?

I’m only a year into living here, but I understand a lot of it now. When that comic hit that dude’s foot, there was a moment in his head where he had to decide, “Do I say something, or don’t I?”

If you don’t say something, then maybe the guy scolds you for being rude. But if you do say something, then he could just as easily make fun of you for being too sensitive. Or worst of all, he could just barely raise his brow at you - because you’re not worth a full facial expression - with a dismissive look that says, “You don’t belong here, and it’s obvious.”

At first, New York feels like you’re damned if you do, and damned if you don’t. There’s kind of a vibe in the air, like it’s a new school year, but you missed the first two days of school, so everyone else already knows where they’re going, and how to get there. And you’re just in everyone else’s way.

It’s funny - we all move here because we want to make ourselves stand out, in one way or another. We want to make it. But right when we get here, we want nothing more than to not stand out. We just want to feel like we belong here. Like we fit in.

So what does a new comic - or anyone, for that matter - have to do to not feel like the outsider? There’s no real magic trick to it. There’s no official “you’re a New Yorker now” card that you get. Honestly, I think it’s mostly just time. Or “time served,” if you want to be more sinister about it.

Time, and realizing that this city isn’t about you. That can break some people, when they realize how little this city cares about them. But it can set you free, too.

There are 12 million people here. Eventually, you’re gonna kick some people’s shoes. And whether they want you to say you’re sorry, or just keep looking forward and not bug them - has nothing to do with you. And has everything to do with them.

That guy on the train last night? He'd probably had a rough day at work, and at 1 in the morning, finally heading home, he got kicked, and he wanted someone to acknowledge his existence, and show him some respect. But the woman next to him might have just gotten done doing retail for 8 hours - and having to be “on” the whole time - and she wanted nothing more than to be left alone. But in both cases, you don’t matter.

When you first get here, you think New York cares about you. It doesn’t. It’s kind of up to us whether or not that’s a bad thing. Some people move here, then decide to move back. I used to think that represented weakness. It doesn’t. Weakness is not being willing to admit whether or not it feels right to be here.

When that comic got scolded on the subway last night, he was probably thinking “Man...I wonder if I’m cut out to be here with these New Yorkers.” But the guy who scolded him might move back to Cincinnati when his lease is up next month. There’s no right way to be a New Yorker. You just try to figure yourself out, but you do that while you’re around 12 million other people, trying to figure themselves out. You’re gonna kick some feet, and you’re gonna get your feet kicked.

New York isn’t a house of horrors. It’s different than other cities, and other places, in a lot of ways. But it’s similar in one very key way: all the people here are people. We’re all individuals. We’re all human.

We don’t live here because we're New Yorkers - we're New Yorkers because we live here. There’s no secret handshake I learned. It’s up to me, individually, whether I belong here or not. That answer comes from me, not from New York.

So if you’re moving here, don’t worry about feeling shitty. I mean, you will feel shitty. Oh boyyy, will you ever feel shitty. But try to feel shitty for your own reasons, not because you don’t “belong.” None of us belong. We’re all just people, living in New York.

Comedy - WITHIN Life

I haven’t written on here for two weeks. I’m going to be writing on here a lot in the next few weeks.

A lot of what I write won’t be about comedy. Or at least some of it probably won’t be.

I don’t think that’s doing a disservice to this blog, or to its readers. Because comedy isn’t life. Comedy is some shit that happens in a life. Comedy is what I do, not what I am.

Wait, scratch that - it sounds douchey, and it’s not reality.

More realistically: Comedy is what I’m trying to do - not what I’m trying to be.

But comedy is not life. And this is not a comedy blog. It’s a life blog.

No, scratch that too. It is a comedy blog. But it’s a chicken and the egg thing. Comedy is nothing without the everything else that surrounds it. Comedy can’t survive on a diet of itself. It’s like everything else: pretty soon, it needs something else to keep going.

I know people that live and die with every set. Their lives are pretty sad, honestly. From my vantage point, they’re missing out on a huge part of life. Specifically, everything that isn’t comedy.

I love comedy. I love getting to do stand-up. But my life is more than that.

Some comics believe that previous line takes away from my comedy. I, personally, think it adds to it. And it raises the ceiling of what my comedy can become.

I hope I never throw life under the bus for the sake of comedy. I have no problem getting consumed by comedy. I have no problem with comedy “owning” me for stretches of my life. As long as I remember that nothing can own me unless I let it. I’m a person. And as a person, nothing can own me unless I let that person - or thing - own me.

I will let comedy own me. But I hope that I never let comedy own me against my will. That’s something different. That’s when it becomes an addiction. That’s when I’m not in control anymore.

I see comics like that. But it’s not just comics. It’s people. I see people like that. I see people owned by money all the time. And it’s sad. I want to have money. I want to be comfortable. But I never want to be owned by money. I never want money to be the force that directs my decisions. Because at that point, I’m no longer making the decisions - money is. Do you see the difference?

So this point - it's not really about comedy. It’s about attitude. It’s about my “philosophy” toward life. What is my philosophy?

If I let chasing-comedy make my life decisions for me, then I’m no better than someone who lets chasing-money make the decisions for them: neither of us are in control of ourselves. Neither of us are thinking, really. We’re just following a script, at that point.

I don’t know what I want to do with comedy. But I want to do it within a life lived well.

I don’t know what that means, either. But that’s part of why I’m doing comedy in the first place. I feel like if I can be funny enough - if me and other comics can find a funny that no one has found yet - then it could be a clue about how to live a life better.

Carlin did that. He didn’t decide what was funny. He was more humble than that. He searched for funny.

What did he find? He realized the funniest thing in the world was that some people cared more about which words we’re saying than which countries we’re bombing.

He wasn’t trying to be funny. He was pointing out things that were so not funny -- it was funny.

Some of the funniest things I’ve ever heard? Are the things that are the least funny. Pryor’s points about race. More recently, David Cross’ thoughts on 9/11, and our response to it. Louis C.K.’s points about love and divorce.

Go back hundreds of years. I know this is giving myself away as a nerd, but I swear to God, Henry David Thoreau had some hilarious points about what a bunch of shitty hypocrites our Founding Fathers were. They started a bloody, murderous revolution because the English were mistreating us by taxing our tea, but then when we started our “more perfect union,” we kept their policy of owning other human beings as property.

Really? The tea was their deal breaker?

That’s what funny is. Something is so wrong, it’s funny. And something is so funny, it makes us realize we’re wrong.

It may sound like I’m dismissing comedy that’s just silly, or stupid, or doesn’t seem to have a “point” to it. I’m not. Sometimes, the best point a comic can make is just that we’re taking everything way too fucking seriously.

A comedian should never feel bad about being silly or stupid, if that’s what feels right to them. They’re probably making a way better point - by doing what feels right - than the comic that goes up next and tells a joke about labor unions, with no joy behind it, just because that’s what they’re “supposed” to do.

Here’s the thing: I can act cocky all I want, but I have no idea what I’m fucking doing in this life. I really don’t. I can probably convince some people that I have my shit more together than them, but I don’t. I just don’t. I might be doing this whole thing all wrong.

But I’m going to try. And since I have no way of knowing one way or the other, I’m going to do my absolute, very best - to have a fucking blast along the way. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll try to help others, and try to encourage other people to be happy, too. But I’m going to really try to have a fucking blast.

More soon. I’ve been in Pittsburgh, with my family, the past ten days. I can’t wait to get back to New York, and back to comedy. I love it, and I love what I’m doing with my life.

I wrote this on the 2nd floor balcony of my brother’s new home. It’s a little cool, but nice enough to write outside. I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of an old car he used to own. It’s slightly reclined. Life is good.

On Jealousy vs. Happiness

It’s easy to get caught up in our own lives. I am myself, after all, so I can fall into the trap of thinking that the only things that matter are the things that happen to me.

But as winter turns to spring, there’s been a lot of exciting things happening to people in my life. And I wanted to make a point to say so.

Stand-up wise, it’s been an exciting couple of weeks. There are a number of fellow comics who were invited to perform on this season’s “John Oliver’s New York Stand-Up Show.” Comics like Adam Neuman, Mark Normand, and Mike Lawrence are all people that I run into regularly up here. There’s a comic named Emily Heller who is great. Another guy named Michael Che’ who is hilarious. Dan St. Germain is one of my favorites in the city, so I’m really glad he got another TV spot. Another comic I love is Jared Logan, who did a spot on it. I’m probably forgetting a few others, honestly. The show was packed full of genuinely great comics.

In addition to the Oliver taping, Mike Lawrence just did his first late-night spot, and crushed it on the Conan O’Brien show. You can watch that set here.

There are others, too. A number of New York comics just went down to South by Southwest, and got to perform there. A number of Austin comics and friends either did South by Southwest or will be in the Moontower Comedy Festival there next month. Others got the honor of being admitted to the Bridgetown Festival in Portland. Friends and peers, both here and elsewhere, are being invited to audition for this year’s Montreal Just for Laughs Festival.

Suddenly and thrillingly, I find myself surrounded by people being recognized for the work they’re putting in. And it’s been exciting to see.

For me, though, two people stick out, as far as who I’m happy for. They’re both people I’ve known since around 2006, when we were all living in Washington, DC, and performing there.

One is Jermaine Fowler, who just found out he’s going to be in the cast of the new season of “In Living Color.” It's a huge break, but for a comic that hustles as much as Jermaine, “break” is probably the wrong word. Jermaine has given himself every possible chance to succeed, since Day 1. And if you want proof, then Yes. Yes, I have a story for you.

The DC Improv is one of the best clubs in the country. But because of that, it’s also one of the tougher clubs to get into, as a young comic. While most of us in the DC scene would just bitch about that fact, Jermaine didn’t sweat it - he just went to Plan B. He called and hounded the bookers at the Pittsburgh Improv. And he did it so much, they gave in and booked him to emcee a week at their club. Opening for Patrice O’Neal.

Jermaine jumped at the chance. No transportation provided? No problem. No place to stay? No problem. He was booked. He could figure out the rest.

He “figured out the rest” by talking to the only person he knew from Pittsburgh: me.

Now at that time, Jermaine and I were buddies, but we weren’t close or anything. Fellow comedians, sure - but we’d never hung out. That didn’t stop him from asking, though. My brother in Pittsburgh is a real cool dude, so we set it up that he’d stay at his place.

What Jermaine didn’t realize, I later found out, was that Pittsburgh does not have the public transportation system that DC has. I had just presumed that Jermaine would be driving to Pittsburgh for the weekend, and have a car with him, since the Improv is 15 minutes outside of town, and more than 30 minutes from my brother’s spot. It wasn’t until the night before his first show that I found out he had no way of getting from the bus station to my brother’s, no way to get to the Improv and back each night, and no money to rent a car or pay for cabs.

Luckily for Jermaine, I had some sick days built up, and at the time, I'd have driven to the moon to watch Patrice perform. So on the Thursday of his first show, Jermaine bussed to Pittsburgh, and my brother picked him up from the bus station and then drove him out to the Improv. I left work early in DC, drove straight to the Pittsburgh Improv, and got there in time to see the second half of Patrice’s set. Jermaine and I hung out all weekend, and I chauffered him to his shows every night, opening for Patrice.

Hahaha. I remember being super pissed at him for a couple weeks. I talked shit on him to anybody who would listen. But looking back, that’s probably half the reason we became actual friends. Jermaine and I share a love for good comedy, a love for performing comedy, and a love for finding ourselves through comedy. And he’s just a good dude. To this day, every time we hang out after a while, he asks how my brother’s doing.

At the time, I was pissed he put me and my brother in such a tough place. But with perspective - that’s some shit we’ll laugh about when we’re 50. People never laugh about the time they did what they were supposed to do. That’s boring. And my brother got over it - to this day, they still both ask about each other. It’s water under the Monongahela Bridge.

The second guy I’m excited for is Rory Scovel, who is starting to be appreciated for the genius that he is.

I worked with Rory Scovel a few years ago at Cap City Comedy Club, in Austin. It’s the type of club that headlines the Rory Scovel’s of the world before the rest of the country has caught on yet.

Rory worked there in 2010, right after that season’s “Comedy Central Presents” performers had been announced. He hadn’t been chosen for that season, even though a lot his peers had. And he talked about how there are two ways to take news like that.

First, you could think that you have been deemed inferior to your peers, and feel like you’re being left behind.

Or, you could look at it and say that A: I’m in good company, and the people who I respect, and who respect me, are being recognized, so I’m probably doing something right. Which means B: When my chance does come, I have a chance to be much more ready, and to be a year or two better than I would have been if I’d gotten it now.

Rory chose to look at it the second way, and he continued to work at his craft, and get better, and better, and better. And last week, he recorded his first special for Comedy Central.

Rory and I weren’t peers when we lived in DC - he had already become a leader of the scene there, before I arrived in 2006. I remember while I was hitting mics in DC, Rory was touring across Canada for something like 6-8 weeks. I remember being so jealous. Rory was really doing it!

AND...I still remember someone sending me a link to a blog post of his, from when he was on the road. He described how “glamorous” it was: For dinner, he would eat a cup of ramen noodles. But there was no microwave - or even hot water - at the motels he was staying in. So he would fill up the cup with room temperature water, and then set the cup on the heater, by the window. And he would just sit there, and wait for the noodles to slowly thaw, so that they were edible.

You know what’s funny? With all the good things happening to people around me, I get tempted to feel jealous. I start to get frustrated that it happened to them, and not me.

But honestly? Being jealous is a ridiculous emotion. I know a few stories from the journeys of Jermaine and Rory, because I’ve spent time around them, and had a few conversations with them, over the years. And knowing their fights, I could never be jealous of them with a straight face. The idea of rooting against them getting things is laughable.

For those people who I don’t know the stories of, I have a choice: I can tell myself that they don’t deserve any of the things they’re getting, because I haven’t seen them struggle. Or, I can understand that all things happen for a reason. And I don’t mean that in the bullshit, the-reason-is-coming-in-the-future way. I don’t really mean that things happen for a reason - I mean that things happen because of a reason. There are reasons people get things. Even if I didn’t see them.

Jermaine’s success happened because of a reason. Rory’s success happened because of a reason. I got to see their reasons.

If you follow this blog, and I get Montreal this year, or I get a late-night spot in the next year or two, will you be jealous of me? I’d guess not - because you’ll have seen the work, and the struggle, that went into it. And it’s a lot harder to have negative feelings toward someone when you invested in them.

I would dare to hope that people will be happy for me. Not that you - devoted reader, valuable-time-giver, anonymous friend - would live vicariously through me. That’s something different, something that’s not mutually beneficial. I’m not living vicariously through any of the people I mentioned.

I’m just...happy. Happy, because they’ve earned the right to be rewarded for a night. They’ve earned the right to feel like they’re not crazy. They've earned the right to feel like eating cold Ramen Noodles was something we’re supposed to be proud of, not ashamed of.

(Damn it. I hate how happy this blog is sometimes. I sense some level of emotional white-washing I think, deep in my gut. I mean, nobody is this happy. But this is what’s coming out right now. And I think there’s a lot of truth to what I’m saying, for the record. So I guess let’s just enjoy it for now, and when my bitter thoughts show up, I’ll try to hurry up and post them, too.)

Encouragement vs. Discouragement, part 1

I’ve lost count exactly, but I got 90-100 sets in in January, and 70-80 in February. Which puts me on track to do about 1000 sets this year.

You don’t realize it night to night, but that experience adds up. Each night can be so similar to the last, and each week can feel so similar, that you don’t realize that you’re getting better the whole time. You don’t realize that it makes a difference that you’re hustling.

I did an 8-minute set at a club two weekends ago, and it was the most comfortable I’ve ever felt in a club setting. I started a conversation with one couple, and riffed with them. But unlike in the past, I was able to transition that into bits that I’ve come up with and been working on the past few months. When I got the 7-minute light, I still hadn’t stopped the original conversation, but it had expanded to a conversation with the crowd as a whole, and I’d been able to go into 3 or 4 of the bits I’ve written over the past few months. All without having to give up the conversation. I was able to crush my set, without ever stopping my conversation with the crowd. It might have been the easiest set I’ve ever done.

I don’t know if I could have done that for an hour. But I know I wasn’t slowing down yet. It felt really good. And it was something I know for a fact I couldn’t have done six months ago.

It was 8-minutes that will hopefully fuel me. It can be hard to keep your morale up here, night to night. The first time you do 5 sets in a night, it’s exhausting, but exhilarating. When you’re doing 4 or 5 sets a night for the 3rd time that week...it loses its novelty. It’s just exhausting.

Let’s talk about that in part 2.

Encouragement vs. Discouragement, part 2

This is a continuation from Part 1.

It’s March 7. I’ve been in New York since I got back from home on January 3. I took one night off in January, and one in February. I’ve lost track of the numbers, but I did between 70-100 sets each month, which puts me on track for about 1000 sets this year.

In a way, that should be really encouraging. I’m working hard.

Objectively, I can see that. When I look at myself from an outsider’s perspective, I can see that I’m growing. And that I’m evolving as a comic. I’m getting better. Being in New York is a good thing for my career. It’s going to provide me with a ton of opportunities, as I continue to work hard here.

But night to night, as yourself, it’s hard to see that. Because one night doesn’t seem much different than the previous night. When you’re in the flip-book, you can only see one page at a time. You don’t get to feel secure by seeing that you’re moving. You just don’t.

So that’s what I’m starting to experience now. I’ve had a wonderful four or five months.

I’ll probably write a longer entry about this sometime, but let me briefly explain something: You know that “New York Comedy Scene” you’ve heard so much about? Well, it doesn’t actually exist. In reality, there are probably 8 or 10 different scenes here, if not more. They just all happen to exist within the same city. But they aren’t the same scene. You could become the king or queen of one of those scenes, and 80 percent of the comics in New York will still have no idea you exist.

This past October, I decided to embrace the scene that revolves around The Creek and The Cave, a restaurant/bar/comedy haven in Queens. In four months, I’ve hustled, and tried to be vulnerable onstage, and tried to stay true to my gut. And from what I can tell, I’ve become one of the more respected comics of that open-mic scene.

That’s very encouraging, and I’m trying to make sure I appreciate the respect of my peers, and embrace my role as one of the leaders of our particular open-mic scene.

But it can be tough. Tough, because even during the past 4 or 5 months - when I’ve been making so much progress - it mostly felt like nothing was happening. No one day was noticeably different than the day before.

The word I’d use is numb. You start to feel numb to what you’re doing. What you used to give a shit about, that’s just “Tuesday” now. So what do you do while you wait for a definable change? Is that numbness a good thing, because it means you’re so bulletproof, you can do 20 sets a week without going crazy? Or is feeling numb, and not even noticing doing 20 sets a week...is that what crazy is?

Does that make any sense? When you stop feeling pain, is that being tough? Or are you in denial that you’re going paralyzed?

I don’t know. Logically, I can look back at the past 5 months and see that I’m more respected. I’ve grown. But what is there on paper? What proof is there that I’m in any different a spot than I was? What proof is there that I’m stronger now, not just feeling less?

A huge part of this comedy game is not being crazy. But another huge part is not going crazy while you’re playing. Sometimes I feel like New York is the best place to go to find out whether or not you are crazy. But it’s also the easiest place to go crazy.

That’s New York. That’s stand-up. That’s life. It’s encouragement and discouragement, both at once. It's tough to figure stuff out sometimes. I don’t know what my own flip-book looks like.

Why I Try Not to be a Dick Sometimes

I had a good conversation with a new comic last night. There was some sort of did-J-Lo-have-a-nipple-showing-at-the-Oscars controversy over the weekend, and that had triggered a discussion amongst he and his friends, which was the basis of a joke he was working on.

To unfairly simplify, a big part of his point was that nipples were overrated. For reasons I won’t divulge here (but off the record: huge fan of nipples), I found myself passionately disagreeing with both his argument and reasoning. So when it happened that I went up right after him last night, I just spent my 2-minute set explaining to him why I disagreed.

I didn’t sense malice on his part - the joke was misguided, not misogynistic. So I just kind of talked out my feelings to him onstage. It wasn’t that funny - but then, that’s the beauty of doing 4 or 5 sets every night: you’re more willing to spend one just seeing where something goes. And if it goes nowhere, you shrug, and go sit back down. And everyone else gets it.

Anyway: the point was, I didn’t mean to be a dick to him - I was just doing my best to be honest. But I still worried he’d take it the wrong way. A lot of people don’t take criticism well. But we ran into each other at another mic later in the night, and we ended up having a great 20-minute conversation about it. We talked about comedy, and failed relationships, and the shitty feeling of falling out of love with somebody that you don’t want to hurt. Which is brutal, by the way.

I find myself having those types of conversations more and more. I’ve started making a genuine effort to talk to younger and/or newer comics.

Now personally, I like talking to people. And I like it when people like me. So maybe I’d do that anyway.

But at least a part of the reason I try to be cool to newer comics, is because I’ve been that newer comic. And I still remember how good it felt, just to be acknowledged by a comic I admired.

It’s funny, because all of us are constantly updating our self-images. We constantly alter how we see ourselves. So for me, my first instinct is to think that any comic who admires me - me? - is an idiot. Because even as I have accomplished more and more as a comic - and become better and better at it - I keep re-defining what it takes for a comic to deserve being “admired.” 19 year-old me would think current-me was a comedic God. But current-me thinks that current-me is...well...normal. Because no matter what happens in our life, since that’s what’s happening in our life - that feels normal to us.

Do you understand? “Why would anyone admire me? I’m normal.”

But to some comics, I’m not normal. And so if a newer female comic wants advice, or wants to talk comedy, I try to understand what I am, from their perspective, even if there’s a big part of my brain that’s saying “This girl is crazy - you’re nothing! Nothing!!”

When I first moved to DC, I got a job as a door guy/host at the DC Improv. And almost seven years later now, I still remember all the comics who came through and went out of their way to be cool to a nobody-aspiring-comic. Jake Johannsen was awesome. Bob Marley was awesome. Bill Burr would answer whatever questions I sprung on him, when I should have been asking if he wanted any food. Patrice O’Neal would finish his weekend shows around 1 a.m., then go get burgers with a half-dozen local comics, and just talk at a Fuddruckers til maybe 3 in the morning.

Todd Glass was so nice the week he worked there, I felt comfortable giving him a recording of 5 of my best bits, that I recorded right before I left college. He phoned the club a couple days later and left a message, saying he could tell I was going to be good. I was floating around the club for days. Cleaning bathrooms was never easier than it was that week.

It’s not just headliners that stick out. When I moved to DC, one of the top comics there was a guy named Andy Kline. I still remember a late-night run to a 24-hour diner in Georgetown, with him and Herbie Gill, during a week they were working at the Improv, and just hanging out and talking comedy, and DC comedy gossip, for hours. I remember, it didn’t feel like a way to network, so that I could eventually “succeed” as a comic. It felt like part of what “succeeding as a comic” was: getting to hang out and talk comedy, with good comics. That’s what being a comic was.

I’m nine years in now, and tiny, insignificant moments remain singed into my memory. The time that Ryan Conner gave me a shout-out on his blog.

I remember going up at the end of shows, and being frustrated, because the “good” comics - the ones I wanted to impress - would almost always have already left. So it felt like even if I did great, nobody that mattered would notice. And I remember one night, Andy Haynes taking me aside and apologizing for having to leave early, because he’d heard I was good, and he kept meaning to watch a set.

Austin was the same way. I remember conversations I had with Lucas Molandes, before I knew him. I remember how unassuming, how welcoming he was. How unintimidated he was. He was everything that makes Austin welcoming, personified. I remember Matt Bearden - an incredible comic, and the Godfather of the stand-up scene there - dismissively acting like he missed my set one night, and how it represented his stamp of approval.

If I ever come off on this blog like I never want to do a TV spot, or I never want to film an hour special, then I’m falling short as a writer. It would be really nice to be recognized in those ways. I’d be honored, and you better believe I’d appreciate it.

Now, when I started, the numbers certainly suggested I never would. But even if I do someday - I won't know that until it happens. And so in that way, even the most successful life can feel like the least successful one, along the way. Because none of us get to retroactively go back and say, “Hey, turns out I was happy for those ten years, not miserable.” We have to decide now, in the present, whether we're enjoying this or not - before we get to find out how it ends.

So that’s why I try not to be a dick, I guess. Because I remember how those moments of connection felt, and how much more fun they’ve made this. How much more sane I am because of them. Simply because more established comics treated me like a human being. It almost felt, physically, like a drug. Like an injection of validation, and of sanity. Like getting a booster shot of a drug called This-doesn’t-have-to-be-like-high-school-anymore.

Wow. Yeah. There it is. That’s a big part of why I try to talk with newer comics. That’s it. Because so much of adult life is just like high school. And as comics - as people who get off on understanding the world better than “normal” people - we can do better than that. We should be leaders in that.

I still fall short sometimes. Our status in a comedy scene is the same as the cool kids’ status back in high school. And I think a lot of us “cool kids” fall into the trap of being too good to talk to the kids that aren’t “cool” yet. I’ve done that before. I still do that sometimes, honestly.

But that’s the vibe I try to combat. Is the vibe that if you’re not good at comedy yet, then you’re not a person. You’re not worth my time.

Hmm. I’ve read this and re-read this. I think I agree with it. There’s definitely a counter-argument to it.

You know how I know? Because I wrote it, like five years ago. Let me see if I can find a link to it.

Ahh hahahaha. 4 years ago Monday. Of course. Here’s me explaining the 100 percent opposite opinion, from four years ago.

Jesus Christ. I think my brain just ate its own tail. This was supposed to be a normal blog-post. How did I end up getting in a fight with myself from four years ago, like this is some bizarro-sequel to The Lakehouse?

I don’t know. But I’ll probably write a blog about it on March 2, 2016. Talk to you then.

(My stance on nipples, for the record, has remained consistent. So great!)

Tuesdays with Hustle

Tuesdays have become my day to hustle. I’m not sure why. I guess it just worked out that way, because there are so many mics, and some of them happen to be clustered together, both time-wise and location-in-the-city-wise. So it allows me to run around a little easier.

Last week I got six sets in. And as I was getting ready to go out a few minutes ago, I ran through the timeline for tonight. And I thought this thought:

“You know, if I play it perfectly next Tuesday, I think I might be able to get 10 sets in.”

I doubt I will - I’d be lucky to get 8 in, really. But just the fact that I could even have that thought - that’s why I moved here. I moved here because I might be able to get 10 sets in next Tuesday. That’s insane. There might be literally one city in the world where you can have that thought. 10 sets on a Tuesday.

It’s also, literally, insane - at least a little bit. I wonder how many comics alive have done 10 sets in 1 night. 100? 200? 300? 500? Maybe? I don’t know. 50? It’s doable. But how many have ever actually done it? How many bother?

That’s the thing. You can’t control what people think of you. But you can control how hard you work. I need to write more offstage. And I need to do a lot of things better, if I want to evolve and really put my stamp on comedy. But I think I can be a hard worker. I think I can do that. There’s more to it than that. But I think I can be the guy that got up 10 times on a Tuesday. Just because I could.

Doing What We’re Supposed To

I’m working on a couple ideas for this blog right now. I’m trying to put together a lengthy, multi-part essay about the idea of “making it,” and what the hell that even means to any of us. And there’s one about the club scene vs. the open-mic scene, here in New York. But honestly, blogging is hard sometimes.

Writing sometimes feels like your thoughts are mashed potatoes, and your brain is the serving spoon they’re stuck on. Sometimes you have to almost violently fling them out. You gotta stop trying to look smooth, because you don’t even know if all the strength you have is going to be enough.

So I’ll keep trying to fling this stuff onto the screen.

I just had a conversation with two of my roommates. The one is Jason Saenz, a fellow comic up here. And the other is my ex from the past couple years, Vijaya.

I mentioned to Jason that it seems like things have been going well for him lately. Which is true - he’s been making a lot of things that are silly, dumb, and just really, really fun. I love this video he made last week. And he’s been doing a ton of stuff like that lately - just having a lot of fun doing sketch stuff with the UCB Theater, and writing and filming more and more projects.

And he said he totally agreed - he’s been having a really good 2012 so far. In fact, the past month or so has been great for all three of us. And we realized it’s pretty much because of the same reason: we all stopped trying to do what everyone said we’re “supposed to do,” and we just started doing what felt right.

For Jason, that meant shifting away from stand-up, and more toward writing and sketch opportunities. There can be a notion here in New York that if you’re not doing stand-up comedy, you’re not “really” doing comedy. There can be a good bit of snobbery about stand-up here, just like everywhere.

I’m sure it’s the same in every facet of life. There are day traders right now that are shitting on some other day trader because he decided he didn’t want to deal with crude-oil-futures anymore. You know? Because if you really give a shit about day-trading, then you’d deal with crude oil. Everything else would be nothing without oil, you know? So if you’re not trading that, then you’re not really doing it.

At some point, fuck the people that tell us what should feel “right” to us. At best, they’re just confused-ly trying to help us, because they think that whatever they feel, everyone else feels that exact same thing. More likely, they’re terrified that they’re making the wrong decisions, and so they try to make sure you’re doubting yourself, too.

The reality is, we’re all different. That’s some 2nd-grade-level shit, but we should have a re-test on that every week. Just because something feels right to you, or makes sense to you, doesn’t mean that’s what feels right to me.

That’s where bitterness comes from, I think. Because if I’m doing exactly what I want with my life, then I’m not bitter toward anyone else. Then, I’m happy that Jason does sketch comedy, and that Vijaya builds peace in Africa.

But if in my gut, I’m not sure I’m doing what I actually want to be doing, then I start wondering if I’d be happier doing something else. Should I get into sketch? Would I be better off living in a village in Africa?

And that’s when I start looking at other people that are doing other things, and start hating them, because I doubt myself.

When you’re willing to ask yourself “Am I doing what I want to be doing?” and the answer is “Yes,” - you see people doing something else and say “I hope they feel this way, too.” But when you’re just doing what other people say you’re supposed to be doing, you see people doing something else and say “I wonder if they’re actually happy.”

If they are actually happy, then that means you’re wrong, because you’re miserable when you don’t have to be. So in order to avoid questioning your own decisions, you have to make them feel as shitty about their choices as you do about yours. If you can prove they have as much fear and doubt as you, then you’ve destroyed the evidence that you could be way happier, and could be living a better life along the way.

I have no idea what this New York experience is going to bring me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be on TV, or if I’ll ever perform at the Cellar, or what will come of all this. But that’s one thing I want to bring to this scene here: I want to make people realize that we should all be doing whatever feels right to us. And that whatever feels right, that’s okay.

Take this blog. I talk a lot of bullshit on here about philosophy, and about “what comedy means,” and crap like that. And that’s okay, because it’s what I love doing. Some people get this blog, some people don’t get it, and a few people really get it. I’m cool with all three.

Right now, in New York, I’m safely at what I would call the “open-mic” level of the scene here. I don’t do any clubs, and I don’t do any prestigious alt-shows. And that’s where I should be right now. I’m trying to make a point of enjoying this phase here, whether it lasts another week, or another ten years.

You want to know something funny though? My favorite comics are not the ones most similar to me. Of all my open-mic peers, my favorite comics are the ones that do exactly whatever the hell they want onstage.

There’s a dude named Billy Stiteler that occasionally tells jokes and occasionally just quotes the shitty lyrics of delusional aspiring rappers from his high school. There’s a guy named Tony Zarat, who just tries to do the stupidest things possible, whether it’s have a conversation with a ghost heckler from the future, or think of how many different ways he can call the audience a bunch of chodes. There’s a comic named Michelle Wolf who loves performing so much, you almost feel like you’re interrupting her by being there to see it.

Those are three people that I’ve learned from, since I moved up here. Because I feel like no matter what happens to any of them in this silly comedy game - that we mistakenly think is so serious - they’re not going to be on their deathbed and say “I wish I’d done what made me happy.”

And that’s the trick. We all want to “succeed” at this comedy thing. So we do what we think we’re supposed to do. Because we think that will get us on TV, or it will get us Montreal, or it will get us on Whiplash, where Hannibal Buress will see us, put in a good word at ‘30 Rock,’ and then take us on the road with him.

But it’s backward logic. Why do we want all that? So we can make a living doing this, yeah. But largely, we want that “success” so that we can impress other people. We want that success so other people see us and say “Wow, I wish I were them.” Because we presume that if someone else wants to be us, that must mean we’ll want to be us.

But it won’t mean that. That’s what I realized today, talking to my roommates. Jason and Vijaya and I - and I’d guess Billy, Tony, and Michelle - are all fairly happy right now, because we’re doing exactly what we want to be doing. Six different lives, six happy people. Because we’re all different. And if you’re annoyed that you wasted 10 minutes reading a few-thousand words, just to hear a lesson from 2nd grade...then go write your own blog.

No, really. I actually mean that: Go write your own blog. Or write more sketches. Or move here to New York. Or quit comedy and become a teacher. Just do whatever you want to do. Fuck what I and everyone else says. Do what feels right to you.

Heavy-handedly, but with love,

Bryson

A wink and a thumbs up? I really AM a great guy!

Tuesday

For any comics considering moving to New York, here’s a timeline from last night, as I ran around the city doing open-mics.

3:45 p.m. - Left my Brooklyn apartment, took subway to a 4 p.m. open-mic at Bar 82 in lower Manhattan.

4:15 p.m. - Arrived at Bar 82.

4:45 p.m. - Did a 5-minute set at the 4 o’clock mic.

5:15 p.m. - Left the Bar 82 mic early, got a slice of pizza, then took subway to get to “The Dean’s List,” a 6 p.m. mic at The Creek and the Cave, which is a restaurant/bar/comic’s clubhouse in Long Island City.

5:50 p.m. - Arrived at Creek and the Cave

6:30 p.m. - Did a 3-minute set at The Creek and the Cave.

7:15 p.m. - Left the mic at The Creek to take subway to the “Tipsy Hustle,” a 9 p.m. open-mic at “Five Spot Supper Club” in Clinton Hill, a neighborhood in Brooklyn.

7:45 p.m. - Arrived at Five Spot Supper Club. Early. Texted a friend to sign me up on an 8 p.m. mic at 1-Republik, which is a bar around midtown Manhattan.

7:50 p.m. - Walked down the street and got a slice of pizza with a fellow comic.

8:10 p.m. - Back to Five Spot. Had a fellow comic that was staying sign me up around 10th, so that I’d go up around 10:00.

8:15 p.m. - Left Five Spot, ran to the subway to go back into Manhattan.

8:45 p.m. - Arrived in Manhattan, jogged to 1-Republik.

9:00 p.m. - Got to 1-Republik, luckily about 15 minutes before my name was called.

9:15 p.m. - Did a 4-minute set at 1-Republik.

9:20 p.m. - Grabbed my coat and bag, and headed back toward the subway, to head back to the “Tipsy Hustle” mic that my friend had signed me up for.

9:55 p.m. - Got off the subway in Clinton Hill.

10:00 p.m. - Arrived back at Five Spot Supper Club.

10:05 p.m. - Did an 8-minute set at Five Spot.

10:20 p.m. - Left Five Spot, headed to the subway to go back to Manhattan for an 11 p.m. mic at The Pit.

11:00 p.m. - Got off the subway in Manhattan.

11:05 p.m. - Arrived at The Pit.

11:45 p.m. - Did a 2-minute set at The Pit. Stuck around for the rest of the mic.

12:30 a.m. - The mic ended. Walked to the subway with another comic. Talked comedy and life for an extra half-hour.

1:00 a.m. - Got on the 7-train. Then transferred and waited for the G-train. Then transferred and waited for the A-train. Then got on the A-train, and headed home.

2:20 a.m. - Got off the subway, stopped at the corner pizza place, got 2 slices of pizza.

2:25 a.m. - Got home. Ate pizza.

____________________________

So that’s a Tuesday right now. They’re not all like that, and I’m lucky in that I don’t have a job I have to go to during the day. But that’s what nights can be like here. It’s really not as lazy a pursuit as some people presume that it is.

Let’s count up the numbers:

1 - Night Out

4 - slices of pizza

5 - open-mic sets

6 - hours spent in transit

10 - hours away from home

22 - minutes on stage

5 - non-comic audience members (at best)

Welcome to New York!

I’m tired. And happy.

New York City, Where Bow Ties Come to Die

Here’s a thing about me, if you don’t know: I genuinely try to not be a dick, most of the time. Feel free to pat me on the back, next time you see me.

It was that desire that led me to introduce myself to a dude on Friday night. I was at The Creek and the Cave, which is an awesome place, for a lot of different reasons. Basically, it’s a restaurant/bar in Long Island City (just across the water, east of Manhattan) that has open-mics and comedy shows, 7 nights a week. It’s a home away from home for comics here.

I was there on Friday, waiting for a mic to start, when I saw a guy that looked nervous and a little lost. It was a look that, after enough open-mics, you recognize immediately: he was a comic with nobody to talk to. I’ve been that comic, and it sucks, so when I see it, I try to engage that person.

I asked where he was from. “San Francisco.”

Cool. Did he move here, or is he just visiting? “Just visiting.”

Cool. How long has he been doing comedy? “One year. Though - I’m headlining The Purple Onion next month. So.”

I forget what he said after the “So.” But I think he let it hang in the air for at least a second or two, in a way that was almost desperate for me to be impressed. But that’s honestly being too kind. He wasn’t desperate for me to be impressed. He said it like he expected me to be awed. Like I was going to be intimidated by him all of a sudden.

What was pretty hilarious, now that I look back on it, is the immediate thought process I had. When he said he’d been doing stand-up for a year, but that he was headlining the Purple Onion, I didn’t think “Wow, this guy must be amazing!” My first thought was, “Wow, I guess that’s not as big a deal as I thought.”

Oh! I didn’t mention this part yet - the dude was wearing a bow-tie. Like a bright white, ironically-clashing-with-my-goatee, doing-this-as-a-gimmick-because-I-don’t-have-faith-in-my-material,-and-everyone-who’s-done-stand-up-for-8-months-sees-100-percent-through-this bow-tie.

I don’t make this next observation to be mean - I say it because it’s accurate: He looked like he was a shape-shifter, except instead of becoming an animal, he was changing into a clown. And he was about 8 percent through the process. Like 92 percent normal person, 8 percent clown.

That’s actually cracking me up, now that I’m writing it. This dude was a figurative clown, but he also literally looked a little bit like an actual clown. That shit is hilarious to me right now, for some reason.

Hahahahaha. I bet when he gets dressed before shows, his one arm puts the bow-tie on, just like the dude’s arm does the Heil-Hitler thing in Dr. Strangelove. Hahaha like he wants really bad not to put the bow-tie on, because it gives his clown-ness away, but he has no control over what his one arm does. Hahaha like this is him getting ready for his shows.

THAT’S the best thing about comedy in New York City. There’s a real aversion to gimmicks here. And beyond that, there’s a real aversion to unearned respect.

When I first got here, it seemed like nobody in the scene here wanted me to rise up. It seemed like everyone was in it for themselves. Like they were blocking and closing off the avenues to success.

But I was wrong. I understood the actions, to an extent - but I misunderstood the reasons.

I can’t speak universally for all comics here in New York. But I can tell you that I am speaking for the vast majority, and I can speak for the nature of this city as a whole: If you’re good, people want you to succeed here.

When you first get into town, there is a genuine thing that happens, where the comics are reluctant to let you climb past them up the ladder here. That’s real, not imagined. But that’s not because they don’t like you. It’s because they want to make sure nobody slips through the cracks undeservedly. If you’re honestly better than us, then we’ll step aside. Sure, seeing you will make us question whether or not we actually have what it takes to make it here, and so we may get weird around you. But that’s not because we hate you - it’s because in a way, you’re making us consider hating ourselves. It’s not something we’re excited to acknowledge, but - if you earn it - we’re okay with you passing us in line.

But in exchange for that fairness, we’re going to make sure nobody gets to cut unless they deserve to. It’s selfish, but it’s also for the best of the scene, and its reputation. Nobody here wants bad comedy to be rewarded. Now that I understand the motives, I think the seemingly standoff-ish nature of the comics here is pretty damn understandable.

Being a comic in New York City is like being in an ER waiting room. None of us would be here if we didn’t have a reason to be here. And we all feel like our situation is urgent.

Would it make any sense for someone to just walk into that waiting room, say they had an emergency, and then everyone who’s been waiting for hours just says “Yeah, cool, go ahead!”

No. Of course not. But at the ER, if someone comes in with a bone sticking out of their leg, most people are gonna say “You know what? My swollen lymph nodes can wait.” Because you understand your pain, and you understand that they’ve probably gone through even more than you, and they are more deserving - right now - of getting help.

For a year, I’ve been trying to put my finger on why New York is an amazing place for stand-up comedy. And that douchey bow-tie dude finally made me realize it. In New York City, stand-up comedy is merit-based. Everyone here wants good comedy to succeed. There are so many things in New York that make you confused, and make you question what the hell is going on in the world. It can be a confusing, frustrating, literally maddening place to exist.

We don’t want the right comics to make it. We need the right comics to make it. If only so something about this place actually makes sense.

Arrogance suffocates here. It doesn’t survive. It gets broken apart and disintegrates here, like a meteor entering Earth's atmosphere. Maybe in other scenes, or in other places, you can do comedy, and the question is “What’s your thing?” But here in New York, the question is always “Are you good?”

So, if you move here, can you make it? I don’t know. But I know that if you want to know, deep down, whether or not you’re a good comic - New York City is where you want to be. If you’re not afraid of knowing the truth about yourself, New York City is where you want to be.

And if you don’t? That’s honestly fine, too. But just don’t expect this city to be impressed with your bow-tie. It takes a little more here.

(Couldn’t quite make it through the shoot with a straight face)