out at the palace in greenpoint

& all the advice I wish the students had asked for at career day

I host the best viewing party for the Oscars in all of Brooklyn, also Manhattan, and even the whole world. See you Sunday, March 2 at Littlefield. Tickets here.

Love, Sex, and Magic, my comedy variety show at the Arlo Williamsburg, is back on Friday, March 7 in the Knockouts Festival. Prepare to be amazed! Tickets here.

And I’m getting so excited for my hour of stand up, Powerpoints, and crowd work (flirting) at Union Hall on Saturday, March 22 at 7:30pm. Tickets here. And I’ll be in LA for a NEW DATE, Thursday, April 17 at 7:30pm. LA Tickets here.

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• Day of the Week: Saturday

• Neighborhood: Williamsburg

• The Crew: Celebrating my best girl, Joan’s, birthday.

• The Fit: Green velvet top with green sequin miniskirt and platform boots. The vibe was elf out on the town. I didn’t take a single picture.

• Home by 1:30am

THE PRE-GAME: Career Day at my High School

I was asked to speak at my New Jersey high school’s Career Day for the second time. The first was pre-pandemy to talk about producing the Tony Awards (my past life), and this year was to tell the youths about being a working comedian.

I told them all to become nepo babies and fast!

Just kidding, I told them to marry rich.

No no, but I did tell them that if they have any interest in pursuing a creative field, they should just go for it now. Please just go for it.

I have regrets —having a bob for so long for one—but more importantly ever wanting to do the responsible thing instead of diving head first into being an artist.

I studied business and theater in college. Heavy on the pursuit of the business of theater. But my favorite, favorite thing was my improv team, IMPROVidence. We did short-form —which is hard actually! We had audiences of 200+ people in a lecture hall convulsing with laughter. It was pure joy and magic and fart jokes. I’m still chasing that high.

Sure, I excelled on the board of our student black box: I was responsible for the budgets, was a voice of reason in our many, many, unreal amount of meetings for 17-year-olds, and used my keys to the building to hook up after-hours on all the sets. Just like a real grown up job!

Eventually, I had to take a semester off from the student theater because I was exhausted and over my classmates, “my colleagues” really…from my extracurricular. What the fuck. Not a good sign.

And then I graduated and got a serious job and another serious job and more serious jobs, and kept telling myself it is unreasonable to take the thing I’m actually passionate about and do it. I can be adjacent to it, that’s enough…

So what, I’m going to die doing Avenue Q’s payroll? The puppets are my bosses, and then I die? In my fucking eulogy: Wow, she never missed an email! Her spreadsheets were extrodinary! And her response time! And that’s what I’m going to do with my one little life?

We did three sessions, speaking candidly with small groups of disinterested students. And I was the least “successful” on my panel — among a Grammy-Nominated music producer, the girl who does contracts at NBC (I didn’t mention to her that she’s negotiated against of few of my friends and former lovers), and a woman who owns her own management company for production designers.

I was much shinier when I was there years ago to talk about the Tonys. There were way more questions directed my way.

“What do you do in a day?”

Oh, work on my survival job from bed. Film a video that maybe, likely bombs. Edit clips. Write when I can get motivated to do so, at least a little bit each day, but ideally for a few hours if it’s a good day. Perform at night…if I’m booked. Maybe I’ll have a self-tape that completely derails my afternoon. Spend so much time on marketing and promotion and pitches and pushing myself forward for opportunities that I don’t currently have, not enough time on the actual creation. Daydream on the subway. Endlessly scroll on social media...because that’s an important part of it ofc. Also scroll WebMD…because I’m always worried I’m dying from something. Fluctuate between feeling productive and excited and comparative and depressed. Then, when my head hits my pillow, binge Love is Blind to decompress, and then do it again next the day, ad nauseum, including weekends.

I wanted to scream at them.

You’re asking the wrong questions!

One guy was deciding between film school and an advertising program.

Choose FILM school, you idiot. Whether you like it or not, you’re still going to end up directing commercials, bud. You’re gonna have to eat.

What I would give to go back, ten years ago, fifteen years ago, and tell myself yes.Yes. Go for it. You can. Sure, it’s crazy, but you’re 21, and so cute even though you have an ugly-ass bob. Try with vigor. Why not? Burn out. Fail. Why not? Why not? What if it sticks!

It’s crazy, but it’s less crazy than being 33 and trying with full force now. Now when I’m sleepy and have weird random aches that WebMD says could be cancer (doesn’t matter the symptom, it always could be cancer, or maybe it’s gas), but a better haircut (princess extensions even), and I’ve been lapped by my peers who never for one second doubted that they were going to live the big creative life they so wanted.

Sure, a lot of them didn’t have to work a survival job, but still. They went for it.

“Oh, I want to always have music in my life, but I’m going to major in Comp Sci.”

What is beautiful about that!?

WHERE IS THE BEAUTY IN COMP SCI, YOU TINY LITTLE FOOL? AI DOES THAT NOW!

Those stupid, stupid young, hip-less (why do we suddenly develop HIPS after 30!?) idiot. You’re telling yourself no before anyone else has even had the chance to!

And then she left the session in tears…

No, I didn’t say that. I said stuff like “your Instagram is your business card,” and “your major isn’t that important, you learn most of your applicable skills on the job anyway.”

“I want to perform and write, what should I do?” No one asked me that.

Maybe no one even dared to dream that that could be possible or maybe they didn’t want advice from me — a comedian they’ve never heard of —but I have a Substack! I have a Substack.

They didn’t ask me, so I’ll tell you.

I’d tell them, go get really good. Spend so much time practicing and throwing things at the wall. And trying. And breathing in the art that you want to emulate.

Get good outside of the big cities or people will watch you struggle, and they might never get that bad taste out of their mouths. Don’t start in earnest in NYC or LA, move there when you have something to say —NYC is better than LA though.

Make friends with your peers across departments. The writing majors and directing majors will be the ones who can give you jobs someday.

Say yes to shitty gigs that pay you in lunch with proximity to cool people who “made” it. Cool people who “made” it like young people who want it. It makes them feel important. They might even help you.

Try big. Tell everyone you’re trying. Form little groups of people who are also trying and make art together. You’ll probably get on each others’ nerves and break up after one too many blow-ups about something dumb like scheduling or a shared crush, but it’s not a big deal, even if it feels like a big deal. That’s the natural ebb and flow, and if one group or partnership is long-lasting, that is unbelievably special. Those are your people and hopefully they’ll pull you up with them if they ever “make” it. If they don’t, they weren’t actually your people.

And please to god, if you “make” it, bring your people with you. Knowing who is one of your people and who isn’t is a hard, hard lesson, that you never stop learning. Don’t let someone who isn’t one of your people, affect your self-worth or belief in your art. And sometimes, even if you try hard not to be, it’s inevitable that you’re the person who isn’t being good people to your people. So beware, artists hold grudges — it fuels our art.

Be gracious and polite. You don’t know who will eventually be a cool person who “made” it. Tell the people whose work you admire that you admire their work. Admiration is also fuel. Unfortunately, grudges outweigh admiration, but saving every nice thing anyone ever said about your work and returning to that instead of your deep need to prove the world wrong is definitely the healthier option out of the two. Artists unfortunately are not healthy —they are deeply disturbed.

Don’t make your survival job something so difficult that it sucks up all of your time and energy. It doesn’t love you, it will let you go or lay you off, even when you did everything right. That’s just business. So all you owe them is getting the job that they are paying you to do, done. No more. No less. It’s a trap to give it any more, then it might become your thing. It is not your thing. Your art is your thing.

On the other hand, there is nothing poetic about being a starving artist. You can’t create if you’re worried about paying rent. Why are you living in New York if you’re not living in New York!! You know what I mean.

Don’t wait for someone to say yes for you to do it. There are so few yeses. So many more no’s. Infinite amounts of no’s, piles and piles of no’s, so don’t say no to yourself. Let everyone else do that, until hopefully someday someone important says yes.

When I daydream on my commute, it’s of being someone important who says yes to other people.

Celebrate your wins. We let our losses outweigh our wins. We will forget a win the next day, but brood about a loss for years. And fuck that! Commemorate the win! Soak in it! Frame it! Tattoo it on your body! Get a goddamn cake!

Take nudes…now. Don’t wait! You’ll want those! Save them somewhere encrypted. Print them and bury them in a time capsule to return to when you’re 90.

Don’t make your main collaborator your boyfriend. When it ends, you’ll really miss the sketches.

When I say “art,” ultimately I am talking about vibrator jokes so have fun. Don’t let the stress of trying to be a cool person that “made” it, rob you of the reason you wanted to do it in the first place. Though, clearly, sometimes it feels impossible and often it sucks. But I would rather all of this suck than devoting my one life to hours of meaningless, stupid little tasks until I’m 90, taking in my preserved 60-year-old nudes like, wow that gorgeous, perky, taut girl didn’t accomplish a single thing. That would suck so much more. I’d rather my life be sucky and impossible…and beautiful.

Sorry if your job or your life is mostly doing meaningless, stupid little tasks. Obviously, we need you. The world would end if we were all artists —no one would be accountants, and we wouldn’t have post offices. I hope it makes you feel fulfilled or you find fulfillment in other ways, from your family and your friends and travel and your hobbies etc. That’s very healthy and evolved of you. As I mentioned, artists are disturbed. I’m fucked in the head, and WebMD says it might be cancer or gas, even both.

Career Day made me deeply sad. Can you tell?

THE GAME: The Palace

Look, I wrote a rant about creativity and success, which wasn’t my intention, but Career Day fucked me up. This part, what my newsletter is arguably about, is going to be condensed. Forgive me.

I started my day in New Jersey, I ended my day at The Palace in Brooklyn. And honestly, anything outside of New Jersey, does feel like a palace.

It was to celebrate Joan’s birthday, and so many years running, she picked the perfect birthday spot. She had a table in the backroom with plenty of space for her many friends and fans. There is a front section where the alcohol is and booths, then the back section with a pool table and more places to sit. The whole bar was packed with other birthdays. A vibe. (Aesthetic: 8/10).

The amount of straight men with jobs…unprecedented. I decided I was going to get free drinks for all of my girls, and I choose a straight man’s birthday party as my target. I approached a nice looking finance guy at the bar (he was wearing a zippered puffer jacket, dead giveaway) and said I had to get the birthday girl a drink. He introduced to me to his friend —a software engineer or start-up guy, you get it— and they bought me AND Joan drinks. I told the friend to offer the drink TO Joan. He did. Good boy. (Husband Material: 7/10).

The drinks, perfectly fine, and better because they were free (Yummy-ness: 6/10). Dancing, no, none of that. It was a chatting bar (Shaking Ass Factor: 0/10).

I spotted a different guy in the birthday party —I was in predator mode—tall, dark-haired, stylish, and approached him to ask about the birthday boy (a DJ, of course).

“Who are we celebrating!???” Sometimes, I have so much rizz, I shock even myself. He was fun to talk to and AN ARTIST. Like, working, cool person who “made” it visual artist, does amazing high-end doodles for brands…

…and engaged to be wed to a beautiful woman. The good ones get snatched up so quick. Hot take, I think engaged guys should wear rings too.

None of the finance, mind-numbing jobs guys could believe that me, Joan, and Joan’s girlfriends were all comedians. They were like: What? No way?! They let girls do that?????

Yes, yes, I’m a comedian, you stupid idiots. I’m an event planner too, but that isn’t my thing. And if I’m not saying that with full force to high school students who couldn’t care less or the population of Hinge IRL or to myself, then I’m saying no like everyone and everything else. Yes. Yes, I am.

I went home alone. I cried. I wrote about it. Isn’t that sucky…and a little beautiful?

Where should I go next!? Leave a comment, email me, or send me a DM, and I’ll wait in lines, try the cocktails, and write a long rant about “art.”