It’s been a long time coming, but I am retiring from writing and performing comedy. Some people are surprised by this. Others are not. The majority however, are just wondering who I am. And that itself is the problem.
Though we live in a skeptical age, and I do have a loose connection to Andy Kaufman, this is not a stunt, game, or even a particularly funny story. I should also warn you that at times this will sound both pretentious and erratic. And its from a guy that once sang “Desperado” in a falsetto with his nuts in a vise.
I began performing comedy when I was a designer in Philadelphia about ten years ago. I used to sneak out to The Comedy Cabaret (the one attached to the Best Western on Roosevelt Blvd.) and perform interesting little bits of pantomime to music. It felt very good. It felt very natural. I left for Las Vegas where I trained with The Second City for a few months before moving to New York. I have been here for the better part of a decade performing and writing and collaborating with some really great talented people who share the same goals as myself. Namely, to write and perform comedy and to eek out a modest living doing that and only that. Unfortunately, it’s almost impossible to do just that. As we age we need things like “homes” and “insurance” and the dreaded DAY JOB we are so often told not to quit. In essence, we eventually come to find that those high school friends on Facebook to which we comedians like to feel superior have it pretty good.
The life of a comedian is interesting. I’d say the less successful, the more interesting in fact. We do not get paid. That’s right. After our day jobs and household duties are done, during which we quietly gather and sculpt material (it looks a lot like staring off into space), we then coax show producers at clubs and bars into having us perform 5-8 minutes of material for no pay. When you are booked, there’s almost a palpable sense that you owe them, and very often you do unless you coerce a friend or two into seeing you perform. Even the shittiest of bands gets booked and paid. But not so for comedians. With a lot of luck and perseverance you can eventually get past the bringer shows and sleazy bookers and enter an odd scene: the same 20 comedians doing the same 20 shows every week. But there is a camaraderie that develops. You lend your time and talents to each other’s works in the hopes that they will repay the favor. Sometimes one of the pack gets called up to the big leagues (L.A.) and that’s a fun day. It keeps you on the path. It reminds you that it’s all for something.
But that’s the way it goes, right? I mean, it’s tough, right? Maybe I’m just not good enough and can’t hack it, RIGHT?! Well, yes and no.
Emails you can never seal with a kiss.
“@MeganNeuringer: when a man calls me “pal” or “kiddo” i know IT’S ON!” great tweet, sport!
The point-and-shoot camera was a vast improvement over the kind you shoot without pointing.
“@meganganz: Worst job in Ancient Greece: http://t.co/qiobFmI9”
//I’m the community college intern that works ‘round back. :(
RT @sosyourfacee: i have a dead tooth now. how cool am i?
Buckminster Wheat sat at Albert Falfa’s bedside until the end after living together in Chelsea for years. #OurGangObits
then put your fucking phone down and talk to her//“@chrisbrown: Girl I won’t complain,U could’ve been anywhere else but you’re here wit me”
“Hey hey, my my” -Neil Young
Read that someone killed a three-foot rat with a pitchfork. Where’s the challenge in that?
