About    Ask me anything   

My name is Alison. I live in Brooklyn.

I twitter.
I tumbl about music.
I write for Late Night with Seth Meyers, until they tell me not to.

Here are some other things I have written, in varying degrees of importance.

Sometimes I'm a podcast guest.

I am well acquainted with the internet.
HeyYoAlison [at] gmail [dot] com

March 7, 2014 at 6:55am
15 notes

Here’s a sketch I wrote with Michelle Wolf just so we could hang out with the band.

January 21, 2014 at 3:39pm
67 notes

Two Months

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. 

I have never hit anyone in my entire life.

I have lived in New York for two months.

January 20, 2014 at 7:40am
32 notes

Park Ranger Doesn’t Know What Dogs Are


  • Maria Bamford
  • Thao Nguyen
  • John Moe  
  • Janey Winterbauer
  • Chris Koza 

Written by Lauren McGuire and me!

November 25, 2013 at 12:43pm
10 notes

Friend Loves Hugs

This is my very last sketch for New Money.


October 7, 2013 at 3:52am
14 notes

Here you go internet. Here’s a sketch I wrote about cats, your fucking favorite thing.