LITTLE REID, BIG CITY #8
by Reid Faylor
Hello everyone. I have a question for you: can you guess what is in my mouth? Some of you may be thinking, “It’s probably a swear; his mouth is full of swears, on account of bad feelings towards New York City.” You’re wrong. It’s ice cream. The flavor? Cookies and cream.
This is as good a sign as any of my optimism.
My last blog post was full of sailor-talk-laced motivations and rough realizations that I need to work harder. And I’m not sure what it was, but it started to work. I was ashamed prior of the four shows I did in a week, and the week of my realization, bumped, however slightly, the number up to six. After that week, I did eight. This past week, gladly interrupted by my visiting lady-friend, I did six shows in just three days. All together this does mark an improvement, but now even this seems like too little –I need more.
I’m really starting to appreciate doing multiple shows in a night; something that back in Cincinnati was a rare treat. At some venues here I can literally perform upstairs, finish, walk downstairs, and perform again for a mostly different audience. I feel myself getting more and more comfortable, and the jokes I’m doing are feeling stronger and stronger. I remember when I first started performing, I would sometimes stand in front of my mirror and deliver my jokes fully animated –natural, fun, exactly myself. But when I would get on stage, that delivery would diminish to something a little drier, less excited, restrained. Now it seems every show I am performing the way I would perform as if in front of my mirror –I’m unrestrained, improvising, fully utilizing my voice. I feel full of feel-goods.
On the advice of Nikki Glaser (via Robbie Collier), I’ve started off every morning with writing. Just about twenty minutes of free writing immediately after I wake, completely stream-of-consciousness, in an attempt to empty out my brain. I’ve done it for a couple weeks now, and it seems to be making a difference. I always get trapped in loops of comedy thoughts; this seems to clear it out. I wake up and can swiftly rid myself of “baby bottoms” and “dog dick”, or whatever words I am always impelled to write for reasons which confuse me. After that, my writing the rest of the day seems more focused and less meandering. I’ve even started getting into other writing projects! I finally started on a book I’ve been preparing to write for a few months now, and I am pairing up with a friend in LA to write some comedy shorts. I am feeling more motivated than I ever have to do comedy.
In summation: yeah!
Now, a guest sentence from Dave Waite (Rooftop Comedy Festival, fresh haircut): “If you want it … you better want it (laughter) … can I be the conductor of the fuck train? The engineer? Boom. Ah … I better shit … got to get going. How far is it to Chelsea?” And upon having it read back to him, “Yeah. That sounds good.”