What advice do you have for someone who wants to go into writing for TV, mainly comedy? Like college and beyond advice.
I get this question a lot an I have to tell you— every person has a different experience. But here’s what boils down to roughly: Be funny. Work with people you like and respect. Have interests and friends outside of comedy. Work really hard. Don’t be a dick. Say thank you and don’t take favors for granted.
You never know what to expect at this bi-monthly, wacky debate series that brings together two teams of comedians, writers and performers to face-off on a chosen topic, such as which pet is superior cats or dogs and is it better to be comfortable or fashionable?
This installment features Saturday Night Live cast members Brooks Wheelan and Sasheer Zamata,Janeane Garofalo, Alison Agosti (Late Night with Seth Meyers), Mike Lawrence (Conan; John Oliver’s New York Stand-Up Show) and Michael Kupperman (creator of the comic strips Up All Night and Found Street).Hosted by Matthew Love (Time Out New York).
Debaters will argue these lingering questions, drawing from historical fact and personal opinion in equal measure, and with plenty of sillinesss and audience participation. Forget about school reform and health care, these issues, heatedly argued by some of the funniest, smartest, intensely wacky creative thinkers around, are the topics that keep us awake at night….in a good way. Winner decided by the audience.
Today it was snowing as I walked to the subway. Not hard, not really. But it was fast and at an angle where it was somehow able to sneak inside the hood of my coat and up my nose and into my eyes.
The first time it snowed this winter, I took an umbrella out with me and I was so proud that I had the forethought to do so. I have long since thought that owning an umbrella and knowing when to bring it are two significant aspects of having your shit together. The first snowfall of the year was everything it should be: big, fluffy flakes falling ph so politely. It was beautiful but even then, even in my very first snowfall, I knew I was being lied to. I opened my umbrella and walked proudly down the street, so confident that I fit the part of a New York native. Very quickly I realized that I was the only person using an umbrella. Hell, there were people jogging in this stuff. Later, at work, it was confirmed that using an umbrella in snow is not done. Not even by lame nerds. It makes no sense to me. It’s frozen rain, you use an umbrella when it rains, right?
Nevertheless, this morning, trudging to the subway with my headphones jammed deeply in my ears and my hood down so low it nearly covered my eyes, I tried to understand how this system was better. The streets were quiet, no one really around if I wasn’t so cold, I could have appreciated how very beautiful it was. I think that often. How beautiful this city is and how much I appreciate it while I’m rushing to be inside. I veered a little to the left. A LITTLE. (While I’m the narrator of this story and I was taught during my wasted years in critical analysis classes for works of fiction that I should be believed until proven unbelievable – I need to know that you believe me when I say this was a little veer). I was met with a punch to my left arm from a woman who was wearing a hat with Mohawk fringe (really, if it were in a movie that hat would have been a little too on the nose).
She then shook her head without making eye contact with me and continued walking. She fucking punched me in the arm. We then continued walking towards the same subway station, the only two people on the street, just a few feet apart.
We stood near each other on the platform, neither of us acknowledged that we were human beings who had experienced a very strange and intimate moment.
I understood in that instance that while most New Yorkers don’t drive, they still experience road rage. I spent the rest of the walk to the train lazered in on the back of her stupid hat, imagining a world where I would run up to her, grab her hard by the wrist and spin her around. “Where are your manners?” I’d either whisper or yell, because I can’t decide which is more terrifying and then I’d head butt her so hard she’d fall over into what looked like a snow bank (but was actually ice covered rocks that had been piled and catalogued for their notable sharpness). I’d stand over her for a moment so she’d remember my face forever. “Your hat is moronic” I’d whisper (definitely whisper on that one). And then I’d float down the steps of the subway, at peace with the true justice I’d administered. Blood, hers and mine, runs down from a significant cut in my forehead and stings my eyes but I don’t even care because I righted a wrong. I thought about it as she and I stood near each other on the platform, considering the choreography. I thought about it the whole way to work with a creepy, serene smile on my face.
LONDON (Reuters) - Having an unusual personality structure could be the secret to making other people laugh, scientists said on Thursday after research showed that comedians have high levels of psychotic personality traits.
“Lou was a prince and a fighter and I know his songs of the pain and beauty in the world will fill many people with the incredible joy he felt for life. Long live the beauty that comes down and through and onto all of us.”—Laurie Anderson on her late husband Lou Reed