Just saying, I wrote that blogpost about Louie and like a month later he did that thing where he tried to come back.
Just saying.
Not saying Louie reads my blog- but, just saying.
Just saying.
Okay, anyway. I moved to New York City. Well, technically I moved to Brooklyn, but that’s a borough of New York City, right? Like, it’s not Manhattan or whatever, but I can still say I’m a New Yorker, right?
Like, if you met a Dominican lady from the Bronx or a Chinese lady from Queens, wouldn’t you agree with them that they’re New Yorkers even though they didn’t live in Manhattan?
Staten Island I would still give an asterisk- but, Staten Island isn’t even a real place. It’s like Australia, or Heaven, or a movie theatre with quiet black people.
So, isn’t a kid who moved out to Brooklyn 4 days ago technically a New Yorker? Come on. Can’t I say it? Please?? I just want to sound cool.
Alright- fine. It’s gonna be like 5 years before I can call myself that. But, nevertheless. I did move.
The first day I pulled up the last of my shit (my bed and some other stuff were already left and ready for me via a few other trips I had made), it turned out to be the annual Caribbean Pride festival.
So, amidst tens of thousands of Caribbean-Americans and tens of thousands of black people who just wanted to have a good time and blast Jamaican music while having 0% of their ancestry from any part of the Caribbean, there was a sole white, Jewish boy who took 14 different trips from his Nissan to his 2nd floor apartment.
It was hot as fuck. It was wild. It was lawless. It was like a scene from Mad Max but instead of chain gangs and the desert, it was Brooklyn and a Caribbean pride festival.
People were chain smoking blunts, blasting Caribbean music, drinking in public, fighting, laughing, dancing, rolling dice, eating food, cooking food, throwing food, shitting food, and double-parking every which way in the greater Crown Heights area. And there I was, sweaty and Jewish, moving in my pair of clarks.
It was a fucking nightmare trying to park and I actually left my car double parked for 4 hours and didn’t get a ticket.
I asked the cops, “is it legal to double park because of the parade?”
2 separate cops from different street corners said the exact same thing: “I can’t promise you anything, but if everybody else is doing it, why can’t you?”
Welcome to fucking New York.
Since that day, New York has been an endless series of job interviews, stand-up routines at Open Mics, a comedy work shop, and $2.50 slices of pizza that make New Brunswick slices look like dog food.
It’s been awesome and I still kind of can’t believe I’m here.
And, the job interviews have subsequently ended and your boy is financially secure (somewhat) as a part-time bartender while he chases the dream of being a stand-up comedian.
Pursuing this endeavor has been tough so far and most of the mics I’ve been to have had as few as 8 to as many as 20 people in it. (That ain’t good).
And, even though some of my bits and stories may have crushed at the Stress Factory or at Tom’s Tavern (a biker bar) or at the Organic Open Mic (a vegan juice bar- not kidding), they either fall short to crickets or to a few chuckles to this New York audience.
Tonight especially was a giant ool sandwich that I took a big old bite out of.
But, hey man, it’s been 4 days and I’m not ready to give up yet. I’ve only just begun venturing down the long, torturous road of being in show business. It’s not the first time I bombed, it won’t be the last time.
And that’s the craziest thing of all, you know? Like, you can do this shit for 15-20 years and still have nights and crowds that bomb. There’s no safety for anybody.
So, it’s the nights when I did kill it back in Jersey that keep me going. It’s the promise I made to some peeps back home that will continue to drive me through it all.
And I really, really, really, really, really, really, really don’t want to work in an office one day. Like really bad.
That’s all I wanted to throw up on here for the moment. Be sure to check out the podcast tomorrow.
Love u.
I’ll leave you all now with a picture of what I moved into Monday.
-Photo credit to the NYPost.
j. cassidy hawthorne 