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Little Reid, Big City #16

Reiders.

I am so sorry. This blog has gone by the wayside as of late –I have ignored you, turned my back on my Reidership, and for this, I sincerely apologize. If you truly love something, let it go, and if it comes back (as I hope you do, Reiders) then the love you had was real. Let me tell you, Reiders, it’s real. When I look in your eyes I see mine reflected back. And then I kiss you.

I’ve been actually planning this blog for a while, as I think it both offers some more insight into the day to day life of comedy in New York, and also helps explain why I haven’t been updating as frequently. Essentially, it boils down to this: it’s hard to be a person out here. I feel like I’m definitely a comedian out here now, I’ve committed a lot to it, am getting better, and am showing a good deal of dedication, but a comedian is not a person. A person, for example, when they find ants everyday in their bedroom for a month, might do something about it. A person might make himself dinner more than once every three weeks, or take the time to buy groceries more than once a month to make that dream even possible. I’m not quite a person. Between work, comedy, a new girlfriend (hey!), and the basic errands I have to do (sleep, eating bad pizza at the only restaurant open in Astoria after 11), I don’t get time for much else. I tend to wake up everyday at 6:40, get to work by 8:30, leave at 5:30, get to a mic by 6, do that until 8, head to another mic that gets out around 10, get on the train and back to Astoria by 11 (12 if I decide to talk to people) and wake up the next day to do it again. There is literally no time in the day for almost anything else. If I take a night off, which I try to do a night or two a week, or take an early night with only one mic, that time left over I’ll likely spend with my girlfriend (hey!) or trying to write. It took me nine months to change banks. During that time I had to send every check I got back to Fort Wayne, IN for my mom to put in the bank for me. That is not something a person would do.

For a little this was far too daunting. Yet, I’ve found trying to do less comedy to make more time for personal living doesn’t really help matters. I feel like I don’t progress as much at comedy, that I write less, do worse, and feel bad about the level of commitment I lose by sacrificing time to eat at a normal hour and sleep the amount “doctors” say I should. I’m going to try the opposite. I read the heavily recommended book The War of Art, and will be taking some advice from it. The reason I feel bad isn’t because I have ants, forget to water my plants or no longer floss; it’s because I’m not committing myself enough. If I can really dedicate myself to comedy and put in time I can feel proud of, my person-life won’t be a bother, because the comedy-life will be fulfilled.

Beyond that, things have been going well. The open mic has been getting a lot more fun –there’s lots of shouting, Christmas music, and poorly choreographed dancing between my co-host Andrew Short and me. The turnout isn’t too high, but the comics performing have been having a good time; the energy is high, and we actually enjoy doing it. Also: bigger news! We finally booked a (hopefully) monthly show! It took a while, and most other avenues ended up being dead ends, but what we got is far better than I would’ve hoped for. Andrew, fellow comedian Kelly Fastuca, and I are producing a show called Underbelly, which is an extension of the show Andrew and I used to do in Cincinnati of the same name. We got it booked for an upcoming Saturday at the Creek and the Cave, easily our favorite venue in town. Now that it’s booked, we begin the process of putting on a show –booking, promoting, organizing, and finally putting it on. It’s more pressure to put into the mix, but I think it will help me a lot. I’ll be keeping you up to date on all that.

I love you all so goddamn much.

Follow Reid Faylor on Twitter.