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Prepping for SPARK

January 1, 2015



Last night I called Shannon to talk about performing at SPARK on January 4th. In light of my recent ego re-calibration, and after looking at the experienced lineup of comics, I decided that showcasing my new talents at this stage might be premature, a little like shooting myself in the foot.  Reading a story, sticking with something that had already proved successful, seemed like a much better idea.

I was a little nervous she would tell me that reading a story wouldn’t be good enough. Ideas like this had originally crept into my mind over the summer, when I was slated to read at an event of over 200 people. At the time, I excitedly shared with an acquaintance that I would be reading a hilarious story.

“You’re going to read it, not tell it?” she asked.  My excitement evaporated, and it felt like my choice would be a poor substitute. This proved to be untrue; in the end, people were falling out of their seats laughing. Still, I carried this self-consciousness, self-defeating attitude with me.

“That’s a great idea,” Shannon said.

Excellent! It was decided. I’d read a ten minute piece, How I Learned to Love Sailing.


     Ashley Rogers was a freelance astrophysicist with one testicle; that latter detail revealed to me even before the thought of becoming biblically acquainted with him entered my mind. I’d see him on Saturday and Sunday mornings at Atlas, a funky coffee shop two blocks from my apartment in Williamsburg Brooklyn, hipster capital of the world.

     It was 7:10 am, and sitting fifteen feet catty corner to me, he was impossible to overlook; a cross between Albert Einstein and Frank Zappa, Ashley sat there gazing at me with a hypnotic prison stare. I tried not to notice, peeking up a couple of times only to find his eyes fixed, motion and emotionless, like Bela Lugosi, casting a net, seeking new blood. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, I’m the victim in all this–right. The truth is, this guy was totally my type – sarcastic intellectual outcast with long, dark curly hair, dark eyes tucked behind a professor’s glasses, a fuck it attitude, and that vagabond-inspired, homeless chic look that just makes me swoon.

More later —



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