I’m drinking wine. I just started though, so this won’t read
like shitfaced Hemingway. This may go
off in several directions. Should I start with Dunkin Donuts? Can I get a “HELLO” for Dunks? It’s a Boston thing (well, drinking really
would take first place, but Dunkin Donuts is magic). The first Dunkin Donuts was what pretentious
Brooklyn pseudo dive bars try to emulate: authentic old school 1950’s formica
laminate countertops with metal edging (for example) and stools that are
screwed into the floor. Just writing
this is making me wicked happy. I love
retro anything. I digress. This line of thought leads to what I am doing
in New York. I mean, there are a ton of
places to perform and duh, everything is here.
But it’s getting expensive and I’m getting tired.
I have this cyclical love/hate with my
lifestyle choices. I do standup and I paint and write. As an artist, I had
to come to New York… I sometimes do up to six shows a week and with that, I struggle to find time to paint while working a dumb part-time office job to pay my rent in Queens (crazy, right?) (and I have roommates so now it’s just like, I need to
get some shit together). This blog helps and thankfully it’s
cheaper than therapy and less painful for my back than zazen.
I’m from New England, so it’s not as if New
York is alien to me. I’ve been coming
here since I was an infant. My mother
was from New York state, and my father was from Philly. I came back and forth to visit family growing
up, and then to go see the theatre and hang with my gay boyfriends in my 20’s
& 30’s. Coming back and forth from
Boston isn‘t that big of a departure, although we (us humans) have to do that
provincial thing where we’re like you’re
from Boston, or you’re from Philly…
it’s not the same, and it’s not – BUT, it’s not like I just fell off the
turnip wagon, because there are people from Wisconsin that live in Brooklyn for
fukks sake.
All of that said, I miss Boston and I wonder
what the hell I’m doing. On a good week,
I performed (and got paid) at Dangerfields and the Friars Club (whose abbot is
Jerry Lewis), and I did a show in a big theatre upstate and made a lot of money. I even landed the Tropicana where you work nine shows for the week and stay in a condo on the boardwalk facing the water! And I’ve shown my paintings in Brooklyn more
than once. On a bad week I’m thinking
what am I doing? I don’t have an agent
and I currently don’t have a job except comedy. I worry about my sister, my car is on the fritz, I really need to move, I’m exhausted and my
parents are dead.
This older gentlemen at my former job liked
to comment about everything. One day he
said “you look tired.” I wanted to
reply, “you look like you died three weeks ago.” People don’t understand the struggle.
Well, that’s it for now. The wine is kicking in. I wore myself out already. My Queens aberrations rant will have to
continue on another day. The message is: stay gold.
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